Back Stories Book I
by mal4prez
Summary: Mal's sick, and it makes for some changes on Serenity. Each member of the crew deals with the situation in his or her own way.
1. Chapter 1 of 14

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

_This fic is the third in a series, following The Fish Job and Easy Tickets. The whole series comes after Objects in Space, and doesn't attempt to tie into the movie. It would help to read my other two fics, but you can get by without. In fact, the next several chapters (after this one) are pretty much character studies of the 9 BDH's. The necessary plot background tidbits will be filled in here and there before things really get to rolling. _

_Back Stories is rated M for adult themes and bits of sex and violence. Pairings are canon – I may seem to stray from this at times, but purists need not fear. I won't be doing anything scary. _

_This was meant to be a single fic, but it got kinda complicated and lengthy, so I split it into 3 books. As of New Year's 2008, the first two books are done. They've been posted elsewhere and I'll get them up here over the next week or so. The third book is still being written, and will get posted as it's finished._

_Many thanks to fireflyfans members vera2529 and LeeH for beta reading on Back Stories Book I._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 1.**

The woman stood out, but not in a good way.

It wasn't the combination of shining blond hair and mocha-brown skin; her face was pleasing enough to stand up to any attention that the contrast would draw. But the hair was so obviously a wig – a very cheap wig – that it wasn't clear why she bothered.

Her lack of respect for fashion also showed in the rough olive-green overcoat she wore. Besides being bulky and stained, the garment had no business covering anyone's body on such a warm, sunny spring day. The coat did fit the shabby hovercraft she sat in. The thing looked like it'd been tacked together from the remnants of a junkyard.

The whole thing – woman and vehicle – was light years out of place here in the big city. Bradford Miles couldn't help but slow his steps and stare as he passed by, and the woman noticed. She gave him such a challenging glare that he thought she might jump out of that monstrous vehicle and do something violent to him. He had a few second's fright as he estimated her height and strength as being much greater than his own. But then she smiled, her wide mouth curving lusciously. She really could have been a stunner, if someone had taught her how to dress and put her in a decent vehicle.

Awkwardly, he smiled back. "Afternoon, ma'am," he said.

"That it is," she replied in a lazy drawl.

The direct gaze of her big, dark brown eyes seemed to cut right into him, as if she was taking in more details about his person than he was aware of himself. Bradford looked down at his watch and hurried his feet again, glad to have an excuse to avoid further interaction with her.

Once he'd passed by, he quickly set the encounter aside. Persephone had its share of strange characters, and he had more important things to worry about. He was running late. Quickly, he covered the last dozen meters of the side street and hustled around the corner to the entrance of his place of employ.

Just a year old, the mall's three levels meandered under skyscrapers for more than a dozen blocks. The high-rises of the city weren't dense, so the shopping space was bright and airy, with natural light pouring through the glass outer walls as well as the clear ceiling above the wide central aisle. It was a pleasant place to work, and Bradford was proud to have a position in one of the more popular and expensive shops: Tech Dreams, called TD by those in the know. Located on the lowest level near a juncture where the gallery bent along an angled city block, it featured every kind of high-tech gizmo which could entertain or inform or, at the very least, incite jealousy. Teens and adults alike spent hours at the displays and product demos, as this store was the first on the planet to offer the newest and trendiest fads from the Core.

On this particular afternoon, he saw as he hurried along the gallery, shoppers were sparse. It was mid-spring; schools were still in session and any youth playing hooky were enjoying the sunny day in outdoor parks. A few adults made use of the quiet time to run errands, but those didn't tend to involve the type of expensive luxury gadgets that Bradford sold.

Sure enough, Tech Dreams was nearly empty. He was fine with the slow time. He wanted to get started on the task that would likely keep him and his co-workers in the store late that night – a new item was due to be released the next day, and the display needed to be set up.

He went into the stockroom to have a look before he got started out front. The delivery had been made just that morning, and several bundles of dark blue boxes filled the space, still bound together and wrapped in clear plastic. TD's senior manager, Ms. Vernai, had already promised to open one of the boxes and let them all try out the uTex once all their work was done. Bradford figured it was some managerial theory that the product would sell better if the workers knew all about it – not that the uTex would need help getting sold. Whatever, he was just looking forward to play time and hoped the day would pass quickly.

He barely got started clearing shelves when his thoughts were jarred by a sharp, high-pitched voice.

"I need a uTex. Right now."

He turned to find a girl standing with her arms folded sternly in front of her. She looked to be a few years younger than him, probably just finishing high school, and had a delicate build and brown hair piled up on her head in big loopy curls. She wore a short blue dress and was dolled up with enough make-up to please a circus clown, though her eyes were only barely visible through the large pair of sunglasses that blocked half her face.

She was pretty, and Bradford felt a second's attraction before he noticed the sour, impatient pinch of her mouth. She glanced around quickly, as if she didn't want to be seen. Perhaps she thought that coming to a _mall_ was an embarrassment, even though it was the best shopping area on the planet.

Her shaded eyes finally settled on him again, and her tone grated on him painfully.

"Dŏng ma? Don't you work here? I need a uTex."

Bradford decided that he definitely didn't like her. He had encountered this type of customer before: too wealthy to have to go to school when everyone else did, too impatient to wait for the actual release date of something she wanted, and too snooty to be nice to a guy who worked a full time mall job so he could afford night classes at the local tech school. But he didn't have to force a smile to his face – here was a prime opportunity to wield the power of his position. It was a big no-no to sell anything before it was officially available; he wouldn't have been able to get her a uTex even if he'd wanted to.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he told her smoothly, "but they're not out until tomorrow."

"They were delivered today, weren't they?"

"Yes, they're in the storeroom. They'll be priced and set out over night –"

She interrupted him, and gods be his witnesses, she actually stomped her foot when she did it. "But I want one _now_! Can't come back tomorrow!"

"I'm really am sorry," he said complacently, "but you'll have to wait."

Her face set stubbornly, and she leaned forward to look at his name tag. "Bradford?" she asked, like it was a pathetic word, not worthy of being someone's name.

"At your service," he replied with exaggerated deference.

The girl didn't seem to notice that he was making fun of her. "My father is very important," she said. "He told me that the new uTex would be available today, and I want one."

He smiled. "It looks like your daddy was wrong."

She straightened, seeming to grow an inch in her effort to look down her nose at him. "My _father_ is never wrong," she snapped, then she looked around the store again, this time checking each person as if she were doing a roll call. Two costumers browsed on the far side of the store, and his co-worker Shelly was pricing items a few rows over. The only other person present was the manager, but she was in the stockroom.

"I need to speak to your manager," the girl demanded just then, as if she could read his mind.

Bradford sighed, then shrugged in resignation. "Hey, Shelly," he called. "Can you get Ms. Vernai?"

"Right away," was the cheerful reply. Shelly flashed him an amused glance; she'd probably been listening in. Bradford looked at the two other customers, wondering if they were bothered by this, but they weren't even watching. The men both had their backs turned as they studied displays on the far wall near the stockroom entrance.

"Is it true?" the girl asked.

He turned back to her. She still had those glasses on, and it bothered him. It was like she didn't want him to see her eyes, like she was hiding something.

"Is what true?" he asked.

"What they say about the uTex? I have an extensive music and vid library, and I expect that there is enough–"

"The chip capacity is a hundred times bigger than the old model. I'm sure it'll work fine for you."

Even with those glasses, he could feel her staring daggers at him for interrupting. After a tense pause, she continued. "…that there is enough storage space and I also expect the capture quality to be very high. My spring formal is two weeks away, and I want it recorded _perfectly_. There's no second chance for my senior prom. It's vitally important."

She articulated those last two words with forced care, her fists clenching at her sides. To tell the truth, it was a little scary – as if she was talking about some kind of missile test that might save the future of humankind. Bradford squinted at her; some girls did get weird about formals, even approaching psychotic.

He turned and saw Ms. Vernai emerge from the stockroom, following Shelly toward him, and he sighed in relief. He was ready to hand the self-centered, obsessive little bitch off to someone else.

He never noticed when the two shoppers, the only ones in the store, began moving toward the entrance to the vacated storeroom.

font-face { font-family: "MS Mincho"; }, , { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }1 { page: Section1; }

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne Cobb studied an object that he'd been trying to figure out for some time; it was a black metal cylinder, and the rotating section on its end looked sharp. Could be a weapon. Maybe it'd take little round chunks out of someone if you handled it right…

But Jayne didn't see the use in that – it'd just get a person mad more than anything. He squinted at the pictures on the box again, then furtively rubbed a finger against his nostril. His eyes lit with understanding, and he glanced aside to see if Mal was looking before he gave it a try.

"Ow!" he whispered as a few of his nose hairs pulled out painfully. He snorted at the trimmer and set it down in disgust.

Mal was a little further down the wall. Jayne had gotten in quicker and claimed his spot in front of bathroom gadgets on one side of the stockroom entrance, leaving Mal the strip of shelves on the other - children's toys. Just now, Mal was holding a spangled purple contraption against his arm. He clicked a button then jerked his arm away in surprise.

"Good lord, I hope that ain't permanent," the captain muttered to himself as he studied a new mark on his skin.

"What?" Jayne asked, and he leaned over to see. A pink and purple horse-like thing, sparkles in its mane and tail, was painted on the captain's forearm.

"Is that a uni-corn?" Jayne asked in a whisper.

"Comes right off," Mal whispered hopefully, and he wiped his arm against his shirt. He looked again, then frowned and pulled his sleeve down to his wrist.

Jayne might have had some fun with that, but just then River's raised voice caught his attention. She had all three workers busy. They clearly wanted to get rid of her – who wouldn't? – but weren't having much luck.

"I travel extensively," she was saying. "I need to know that I can access the cortex and send and receive waves from any location. My social life is extremely – excuse me, are you even listening? My social life is extremely important. Father says it's never too early to be forming connections that may be useful later in life, and my whole career hinges on…"

Jayne and Mal shared another look, then Mal tipped his head toward the stockroom door, and in they went.

Mal paused to send a heads-up through the comm, letting the rest of the crew know that things were beginning to go down. About time, too, Jayne thought. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun, passing time in a gorramn mall. He'd had to clean up, trim his hair and beard so he wouldn't look suspicious. Kaylee'd done the barbering since Inara was long gone, and she'd had to get him drunk before he'd let her do it. He'd had to wear his civvie outfit, too. The same clothes he'd used on Oeneus when he'd snuck on an Alliance base to spring the captain: a plum silk blouse that he was longing to set on fire.

But this was a job that'd pay, so he'd put the shirt on and marched into the mall like he was told. He'd sat his ass on a plastic bench next to a plastic plant, watching old ladies and half dressed teenagers go by. Sāobī looked down their perky little noses at him like they were wondering why their gardener wasn't at home taking care of their gorramn daisies.

Jayne had been here all morning – had to wait half the day before the crew was ready, the staff in the little techie shop was in the right place, and there were no customers in the way. Then he and Mal'd moved in, posing as shoppers, and their ninety pound diversion had stepped up to do her thing.

"But you're not answering my question!" River went on, her voice carrying into the stockroom like the wall wasn't there. "It's about more than a communication tool. This will be an essential part of my life as a student. I'll be starting college next year. I need something with advanced mathematical tools for calculation and plotting, as well as for solving symbolic functions. I'll be starting in differential equations, you know. I passed out of college level calculus. Father says it's because I…"

Jayne grimaced. "Girl's got a helluva mouth on her, huh?"

"No more talk," Mal replied sharply, all business now. "You look for the goods. I'll set up the transport."

Mal had already found what he needed, and he started ripping open a box of hoverboards, the kind that got kids in trouble when they rode them around on the neat landscaping outside the mall. Jayne nodded and started winding through the aisles, looking for the boxes. Badger had shown them what they'd look like, and it didn't take long to find what he was after.

font-face { font-family: "MS Mincho"; }, , { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }1 { page: Section1; }

.*. .*. .*.

_8 days ago_

_Badger looks up from his desk when the three of them walk into his office, his face showing the kind of amused surprise that begs to be punched off._

_"Well," he says, "As I live and thieve – Malcolm Reynolds. Word had it you was out a' the game. Gone all political."_

_"Word had it wrong," Mal replies coolly. "As usual."_

_Jayne stays behind Mal's right hand, Zoë to the left. He don't like dealing with Badger; it never ends well. But Mal's still the boss, even if he's a little off in the head, so Jayne stands tall with a hand hanging near his gun, waiting to see how things fall out._

_"That the truth?" Badger asks Mal. "You weren't running weapons to a heap a' trouble out on Oeneus, trying to take down the fine Alliance guv'ment?"_

_Jayne takes a slow step to the side so he can see the gunhand behind Badger's desk better. He also catches a glimpse of the innocent, shocked expression on the captain's face._

_"Trying to…?" Mal says in disbelief. "Now why would I do such a fool thing? I am a peaceful man."_

_Badger snuffs a short laugh. "Yeah, you're peaceful and I'm two meters tall. Didn't I send you to a right nice little party a while back, and you ended up starting a fight? Got yourself into a duel over that fancy lady a' yours when you ought'a been talking business?"_

_Jayne has his attention on the men standing around the edges of the room, but the sudden shift in Zoë's stance draws his eye._

_"You got a job for us, or what?" she asks, interrupting whatever Mal is about to say. Jayne knows why she's speaking up like that – ain't no one allowed to talk about Inara in front of Mal._

_"Eager, are we?" Badger asks, with a curious look at Zoë that turns into a toothy grin. "You miss me, precious?"_

_Mal looks over his shoulder to give her a glare. Jayne's been working with these two long enough to get that Mal's saying, What are you doing? I got it. But usually that kind of look is aimed at Jayne, not Zoë._

_"Zoë here's been pinin' away," Mal says, then he turns back to Badger and grins. "Aw, shucks. I missed you, too. Things been way too simple on my boat. How 'bout you give us a job to complicate life up how it should be?"_

_"Mm-hmm." Badger stands up and comes around the desk. He gives Mal a long look, like he's sizing him up. "Now, why do I have the distinct feeling that you ain't so free and clear?"_

_"Free and clear of what?"_

_"Take a guess. I ain't keen on giving you a job just so as you can get nabbed by whoever you pissed off out on the Rim. Not only blow the deal, but lead the hounds you got on your tail back to me. I don't fancy hounds much."_

_Mal's eyes flicker toward a few of Badger's gunmen and makes a doubtful sound. "Un-hunh." He goes on before Badger can reply to the suggestion. "Well, you can put your doubts to rest. We just helped the Alliance fix a bit of nán dù going on out towards Niflheim. Fact is, the Feds are more than a bit happy with us right now."_

_Badger studies Mal's confident smile doubtfully. "I could have something for you," he says. "Call it a test, to see if you really are back in business. How d'you feel about toys?"_

_Jayne has to answer that one. "Depends on what you mean," he says. "We talkin' the adult kind?"_

.*. .*. .*.

Wash idly twirled a dinosaur and tried to ignore the grumbling of his stomach. He was pondering the crappy things about being a pilot – this was one of them. The rest of the crew got to visit a place of light and civilization and sparkly nice goods for sale; they were probably having fruit smoothies and yuán xiāo and – āi yā – those cinnamon bun things, all butter and cream cheese frosting. And here he was, stuck in this nasty dark warehouse, staring out the windows of _Serenity_'s bridge at the tiny bit of blue sky he could see through the open doors, nothing to do but wait for the call to action.

"Master of the Sky," he mumbled to himself. "Lord of the Black. I float on the wind, even when there is none. I need no treats to feed my passion. Don't need shopping. Don't need… stores. Boring clothing stores. Stupid girl things. Dresses… slinky dresses… and nighties … mmm, lace nighties. Black lace... white lace… pink…"

A fairly long quiet period passed while he was lost in his thoughts, very pleasant thoughts of pink lace against dark chocolate skin and guesses as to what he'd have to do to convince his Amazonian wife to wear such a color, but then a soft, precise voice interrupted him.

"How's the job going?"

Wash fumbled a bit as he set down his dinosaur. "Um, it's uh… there are stores. Stores with clothes and lacy… things… and… how are you doing, Simon?"

"How do you think?" Simon replied, his clipped words betraying his tension. Wash sighed. He didn't want in on this battle. It'd been going on for days, ever since River had walked in on the planning and done an impromptu – and uninvited – audition for the role of distracter. There was no denying that she did it well, and she got what she wanted out of it – a chance to take part in a job.

And Mal'd got an earful from the doctor. Several days worth of earfuls, in fact. It was likely that the doctor's concern for Mal's mental state was the only reason it hadn't come to blows.

"Shepherd Book will take care of her," Wash said. "And it's only a mall. How dangerous can it be?"

Simon shrugged noncommittally, and Wash thought about it for a few seconds.

"She doesn't have any kind of… purchasing power?" he asked. That got Simon to smile.

"Absolutely not."

"Then it'll be fine. You have nothing to worry about."

Simon shook his head. "I really hope not. Have you heard anything at all?"

"They're in the store. It should be a few minutes before they have everything ready to go, and a few minutes more for Zoë to get them away. Maybe you and Kaylee should get ready."

Simon nodded, but for a second he looked more sad than worried. As he turned and left the bridge, Wash sighed again.

Can't talk about Inara in front of Mal. Not good to mention Kaylee in front of Simon – or vice versa. Avoid River because the broken-hearted _I-need-a-boyfriend_ whining is getting old. And, as always, keep as far from Jayne as possible.

It was getting tough to carry on a conversation on this ship.

Simon found Kaylee on the sofa outside the infirmary, hunched up at one end with her legs folded under herself. She nodded a hello to him as he sat down, but then looked away. She didn't appear to be interested in talking.

At least she was here, out in the common space and not locked up in her quarters or elbows deep in some compartment of the engine room. Simon would almost swear that she'd been avoiding him, and just about everyone else on the crew.

"They'll be coming soon," he said, and Kaylee nodded. He tried to think of more to say, but nothing came to him. They sat still for a long minute, then Kaylee stirred and sat up a little.

"You think they'll all be okay?" she asked.

"If they're not, I'll… " Simon didn't finish, not wanting his frustration to get the better of him now, when there was nothing he could do. He'd fought this tooth and nail, and he was still bitter about being overruled. Even if this job was taking place in a somewhat safe location, the captain had no business getting River involved in his criminal activities.

As for River – she'd glowed at the idea of spending time in a mall, the first happiness she'd shown since they left Niflheim nearly two weeks ago. It'd actually challenged his resolve; more than any orders from Mal or arguments from Zoë, the plea in River's eyes had been hard to refuse.

"It don't seem right," Kaylee said, her soft words breaking into his train of thought. "It ain't right sendin' the captain out on a job, the way he is…." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"But he doesn't know," Simon replied. "We can't just force him to stay on the ship if we can't explain why. "

"I know," Kaylee replied in a quiet voice. "I know."

Simon put his thoughts of River aside as he studied Kaylee. It used to be that conversation flowed easily and comfortably between them, but that had changed. Ever since Niflheim.

He folded his arms in front of him, then raised a hand to touch his neck, remembering how Kaylee's mouth had pressed there. She never spoke to him about it, and Simon didn't have the courage to bring it up. It was as if it had never happened. No – if that was true, she'd still be talking to him like she used to. It was worse than if it had never happened.

He was relieved when the silence was broken by the comm.

_Time to get to work, kids,_ Wash's electronic voice called out. _Captain'll be on his way home from the mall in just a few seconds, loaded down with lots of fun toys! _

.*. .*. .*.

Kaylee sighed and headed toward the engine room without saying anything. Simon had a small part in this job himself; he was to wait in the cargo bay and operate the door so Wash could lift off as quickly as possible. It was good for Simon to be there, ready, just in case his services were needed. It wasn't likely that there'd by any physical injuries since there were no armed guards at the mall, but he wasn't sure how the captain would react to the mental stress of a job.

He also wasn't sure he was up to providing the kind of help that Mal might need. Simon had stretched his abilities already with River, and now he had another patient with a condition he didn't understand. He'd been spending a great deal of time doing research lately, trying to figure out what was happening to Mal, and how it could be treated, but he hadn't made any real progress. He didn't know much more than he had the day Inara left the ship, the day that Zoë'd told him about Mal's condition.

Zoë sat in the mule, pulled into a loading zone on an empty side street. She shared cheery words with passers-by when necessary, but kept the engine idling in case the parking police came sniffing around. She had to be free to move when the call came through. Timing was critical to her part in this job.

She adjusted the horrible blond wig that draped over her head like a rug, making her sweat despite the cool breeze that topped the perfect spring day. There hadn't been much money for getting disguises, but the biggest danger in this job were the cameras that would be reviewed later for any identifying marks on the perpetrators. Disguises were important, even bad ones.

The wait stretched longer than she liked, and she decided to check in.

"Hey, Shepherd," she said into comm mic. "How they doing?"

_River is… impressive,_ Book replied, his voice amused but soft as he spoke to her from the central gallery of the mall. _I wish I could move in closer so you could hear her. _

"She's got talents, no doubt," Zoë replied, but River's part wasn't what she wanted to know about. "How 'bout the other two?"

_No sign yet. But with River going on like she is, they have lots of time. _

He had a point about that. If River really was being so effective as a distraction, she was taking a whole heap of pressure off of Mal. Zoë was grateful to the girl for that – and grateful to the Shepherd as well. Simon certainly would have locked her up, keeping her from this job, if Book hadn't agreed to watch over her.

"I do thank you for goin' along," she told him.

_It's been entertaining. But perhaps we shouldn't be talking so much at the moment. _

"Right," Zoë said abruptly, and she set the comm aside. It stung her that Book'd had to call her on that; she should know better than to chat unnecessarily.

Nerves, that's what she had. She was full of more worry than such a piddly job deserved. But it wasn't the crime that had her hackles up; it was Mal.

.*. .*. .*.

_12 days ago_

_"Okay, I'll bite," Mal says to the crew at the dinner table. "Who's Inara?"_

_Zoë's sure it's a joke, but Mal's face says otherwise._

_"See?" River tells her brother. "Broken."_

_And that's enough of that. Zoë gets up before any discussion can start and pulls Mal away from the table; this needs to be handled without the rest of the crew looking on._

_Mal goes along with her, seeming amused. "You gonna show me something?" he asks as she leads him toward Inara's shuttle – or Shuttle One as it'll be called from here on out._

_"You bet I am," she says. She doesn't speak again until the shuttle's hatch is shut behind them._

_"You know where we are?" she asks._

_Mal squints at her, then takes an exaggerated look around. "Um – Shuttle One?"_

_"Yeah, but it ain't been called that for a while now."_

_Mal looks at her sideways and scratches his jaw thoughtfully. "Shuttle yī?"_

_Zoë takes a deep breath. "Sir, you got to cut this out. I know she did you wrong, turning her back on you like she did, but this ain't gonna help."_

_"All right, I'm used to this from River, but you usually talk sense to me. What's goin' on?"_

_"She left, sir. It ain't fun, but you got to deal with it."_

_"What are you – ?"_

_"Inara."_

_He rolls his eyes. "Oh – right. This again."_

_"The Registered Companion who rented this shuttle for more than a year," Zoë continues doggedly. Mal exhales impatiently and turns away with a shake of his head, but Zoë moves around to stay in his sight. "The woman who walked off this ship just this morning."_

_"Zoë, I think I'd know if I had a whore on my boat."_

_"She's a Companion."_

_"Whatever – it makes no sense! What the hell would somebody like that be doing here?" He laughs. "Can you imagine – folks comin' to my ship to buy a tumble from a fancy lady? Ain't no way."_

_Zoë nods reluctantly; she has to give him that. "It was… odd, but the rent money helped us get by. Inara was helpful too. Rich folk always want a Companion to visit their world, she got us landings places we wouldn't have got to otherwise. It worked out."_

_She realizes that she's rambling, and Mal's staring at her like she's truly fā fēng le._

_"Why you doin' this, Zoë?" he asks._

_"What?"_

_"What exactly you trying to convince me of?" He spins slowly with his hands out, looking around the dark, stripped-bare space. "There ain't no one here. There never was." But his voice is weak, with a hint of desperation – like maybe he isn't quite sure about what he's saying._

_Zoë shakes her head. "This is asininely stupid," she says to herself, then goes to the comm and calls up to the dining room._

_"Kaylee! Kaylee, I need you."_

_The answer comes a few seconds later. Yeah, Zoë?_

_"You got a capture of Inara?"_

_I do._

_"Bring it to Shuttle One."_

_Mal don't look comfortable about what she's planning. "Zoë, this is crazy…"_

_"Just hold on a sec, captain. It'll all make sense when you see this."_

_He turns away from her, exasperated. Zoë moves to stand by the hatch, ready to stop him if he tries to leave. By now, she has no doubt that he isn't acting. He really don't remember Inara. But his manner has an edge of defensiveness, like he don't want to argue about it too much, like somewhere in his head he knows he'll be proven wrong. She has to keep him here until she gets through to that part of him._

_Kaylee arrives after a tense minute, holding the capture. Zoë takes and activates it – it was taken the night before, as Inara packed. Zoë holds it out toward Mal; he doesn't look at it, just stares at Zoë's face._

_"This is Inara. Sir," she says softly._

_Mal's jaw works sideways a little, but he reaches out and takes the capture. When he finally looks down at it, Zoë sees a spark of recognition in his eyes. He moves a hand to touch the screen._

_"Zoë – I…" he starts, then he raises his hand to his forehead. His breath is coming short._

_Kaylee sees it too. "Captain, you okay?" she asks._

_Mal's hands are getting shaky. The capture slips out of his fingers and falls to the deck, and he steps back away from it. His right arm reaches out to find the bulkhead behind him, and he leans against it, still with his other hand on his head, now clutching his hair as if he's in pain. Kaylee gets to him right away, holding him around the waist when his knees appear about to buckle._

_Zoë leans over to pick up the capture. She shuts it off and holds it tight against her side._

_"Captain?" she asks. "What's goin' on?"_

_Mal doesn't answer; he's pale as a ghost. Zoë moves closer to help support his weight. "Let's lower him down," she tells Kaylee._

_"No," Mal says, his voice faint. "No, I got it." He puts a hand on Zoë's shoulder and pushes her away. Kaylee nods that she has him, so Zoë steps back to give the man some space._

_"Well, that was odd," Mal says, then he gives a short, uncomfortable laugh. He wipes a hand over his forehead and looks at the thin sheen of sweat that comes away on his fingers, then glances at Kaylee as if surprised to find her under his arm._

_"Hey, Kaylee," he says. "It's all right. I'm okay." Though he wavers a bit, he's standing under his own power. Kaylee lets him go._

_"What were we talkin' about?" he asks, then answers himself. "Oh right – the shuttle." He takes a few more breaths, still pressing one hand against the bulkhead to help him balance, then nods at Zoë. "You're right. We ought'a rent it out. Could make some decent money, if we get the right kind'a person."_

_"Yes, sir." Zoë exchanges a look with Kaylee before she adds, "I wonder why we didn't think of that before."_

_"Too busy, I guess," Mal replies. He wipes at his face again. "Too bad – we could'a been makin' some honest money all this time. That'd of been helpful." He shakes his head a little, then stops and leans against the bulkhead, like the shake wasn't a good idea._

_"Sir?"_

_He looks at Zoë and smiles like he's embarrassed at his state. "I'm – I'm feeling kind'a woozy."_

_Zoë looks at Kaylee again, and gets a short nod of understanding. "It's probably that bump on your head, Cap'n," Kaylee says. "From those hijackers. Maybe you'd best go rest."_

_Mal starts to nod, then winces a little. "Yeah, I'll do that."_

_They watch him leave, then Kaylee turns to Zoë, her face showing how overwhelmed she is. Zoë's feeling much the same. She goes to the comm and calls Simon to the infirmary – the doctor better as hell have some clue as to what's happening._

.*. .*. .*.

_Simon is so dense,_ River thought. _This is easy. I can handle crime just fine. In fact, I excel at it._

She hadn't enjoyed herself so much in a long, long time. Her parents would never have let her be such a pain to someone they'd consider a servant, and thus worthy of a certain level of impersonal politeness, but River had seen many of her peers act like this. It wasn't a challenging part to play.

"But you don't understand," she said, scolding the poor shop workers as if they were children. "My Father is _very_ important, and he knows _everyone_. When he says something, it happens, and he told me…"

She saw a little ball bounce out of the storeroom, but she didn't miss a word. She had to keep the three employees occupied where they all stood – near the mall entrance. Mal and Jayne silently started out of the storeroom, each pushing a large cart of goods in front of them. They'd just cleared the door when the little ball hit the glass back wall of the store and exploded.

It wasn't a large concussion – it was barely enough to punch a hole through the bottom of the floor-to-ceiling window, but the glass splintered throughout. Mal broke into a run, pushing a tightly bound bunch of dark blue boxes ahead of him. River couldn't see all of it from where she stood, but she knew from the smoothness and ease of the pack's motion that Mal had gotten the goods loaded onto a few bound-together hoverboards that he'd commandeered from the storeroom. A few steps from the window, he gave a hard push, leapt forward, and flung himself over the top of the pack, resting on his stomach and grabbing hold of the bungees that held it all together.

He ducked his head, and the whole wall shattered as he crashed into it and passed through. Jayne followed behind, flopping onto his own pack of electronic goodies just in time to meet the shower of glass that came pouring down on him.

River took a few eager steps toward the destroyed wall, wanting to see how the getaway went. A shabby hovercraft with a tall, dark-skinned blond at the wheel arrived from the left in perfect time. A pair of magnetic grapples trailing the mule found their marks, and Jayne let out a whoop of joy as his ride took a sharp right turn and abruptly picked up speed, with the captain and his "cart" pulled along just behind.

River checked the mall side of the store; Book was standing in the gallery, ready to make sure that she made a clean getaway of her own, but she wasn't ready yet. She turned back to Bradford and looked him up and down. He was a little square in his shop worker outfit, but cute enough. Good height. Nice skin.

She tilted her head sideways in a move she'd seen other girls in the mall use.

"So," she said, "are you busy tonight?"

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
dŏng ma: understand?  
sāobī: bitch  
nán dù: trouble  
yuán xiāo: sweet dumplings  
āi yā: damn  
yī: one  
fā fēng le: gone crazy


	2. Chapter 2 of 14: Zoe

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Zoë**

_This might just be the longest ten minutes Mal's known. _

_It's not just a matter of the pain. Mal's spent quite a bit of time in the company of pain, and they passed the basic introductions long ago. Old acquaintances, one might say. Not friends – he don't like it, and sure as hell pain don't like him, but they've reached an understanding. _

_You see, (Mal struggles to remind himself during a pause in the action) pain is just a messenger. It's a way for the body to say, "Excuse me, could you maybe have a look at what's happening over here?" It ain't fun, but it does help out. __For example – there's this age-old sickness that crops up on remote planets from time to time, name of leprosy. A leper gets to being numb, something about nerves dying off, and a tiny nick on a fingertip might pass notice. It don't get cleaned out, and in time the whole gorramn hand is rotted away with gangrene. _

_Goes to show that a body without pain is a body that can't survive. Long as Mal can keep this perspective, he can handle quite a lot of hurting. __Problem is, in certain situations, (like the pickle he's found himself in here), nothing can be done about the cause of the pain. His body don't know that, and don't know to stop talking. Usually, Mal can stop listening. He's gotten real good at that. He can turn away from the hurt until it kills him, a thing he learned from Adelei Niska. It takes a certain degree of stubbornness, but Mal's always had plenty of that._

_Until now. _

_The smiling man with tan skin and thick black hair has his own kind of doggedness. He's got Mal on the run, so to speak. They both know it. Will smiles down at Mal, his even white teeth shining brilliantly in the darkness of _Serenity_'s bridge._

"_You've got nothing smart-ass to say now, do you, Browncoat?" Will asks._

_Mal grinds his teeth into the sour bandanna that fills his mouth, wishing he could point out the obvious. Thing is, he's not sure he'd be able to speak any sense, even without the gag, even if he could breathe in enough air to fill his starved lungs. That's part of the problem, too. He can hardly function, body or mind. His normally dependable self-control is flailing about like a dead stalk of grass in a windstorm. The system he'd worked out with his body's messenger has broken down, and he's got no defense against it._

_Will uses the electrical cord again, pressing the live end into the bare skin of Mal's neck. _

_It sure ain't pleasant, but it's not as bad as it'd been with Niska. Niska'd had more juice in the line. Knowing that draws a groan out of Mal, a sound of frustration as much as pain, because he should be able to take this. There's a divider he should be able to put up in his mind, a barrier to keep the core of himself separate from what's being done to him. _

"_Too bad I'm so limited here," Will says ruefully, studying the cord. "Oh, the fun I used to have with you Independent types during the war." He leans forward and speaks low. "I'm not supposed to tell, but I was Special Ops. Lots of intel gathering. We had to use extreme measures." He leans back and smiles again, the good-guy smile of a true hero. "It all saved lives in the end. Well, the lives that were important. People like you don't matter. Never did." _

_The pain comes again, and Mal can no longer see. He's not sure if his eyes are closed, or if they just don't work anymore. _

"_Hey – will you look at that?" Will says, his voice distant and fading in the darkness. "Time to go meet your lady-friend!" _

_Mal can't quite think. He's not sure if he's even in his body anymore; maybe he's someplace else, dreaming this. (Which reminds him of something – a different dream in a different time…) As the dream/reality dissolves, there's a fleeting realization that flies by before he can fully grasp it, an almost-understanding: _

_Something in him is busted. Out of order. Kaput._

o-o-o

"Cut it out, River!" Zoë yelled into the microphone on her shirt, her voice raised against the roar of air whistling by the speeding mule. "This ain't the time to be makin' dates!"

She didn't need to warn again. There was a short spell of silence, then the girl's sullen voice came through the receiver, barely loud enough to hear.

_Turned me down anyway._

"Good. Get goin' before someone thinks to start askin' you questions!"

If River replied, Zoë didn't hear it – she had to focus on making a sharp turn to head toward the warehouse district. She checked behind her for the two bundles of goods she was towing; each was riding on a couple of strapped-together hoverboards and topped with a man holding on tight. Mal had his head down, but Jayne grinned into the wind and gave her a thumbs up.

Was that supposed to mean _go faster_? Wasn't likely to happen. Zoë wound through traffic, already moving as quickly as she dared. There were a fair number of ground cars, but the space above them was clear, and she popped the anti-grav thrusters enough to give a lift and ride over slow or stopped vehicles when she needed to. There had to be traffic cops monitoring this somewhere, going absolutely bugshit crazy at what she was doing. Zoë grinned at the thought.

They entered the warehouse complex nearly half a klick from where _Serenity _was hidden, Wash at the helm and the engines, according to plan, already humming. Zoë had walked the route a few times in the past week, carrying a stick that let her measure doorways and passages to make sure the mule would fit. The tricky part was hitting the tight spots straight on, so the booty and the men she towed would make it without damage. With the exception of one unexpectedly closed door, she came through clean. As for the closed door, it may have put a few scratches in the front of the mule when she crashed through, but Kaylee'd be able to fix that.

_Serenity_'s thrusters fired up as soon as Zoë entered the large warehouse where the ship waited, cargo bay door wide open. She saw a flash of Simon standing by the airlock controls as she entered the ship, then she slid the mule sideways to what should have been a perfect stop.

The only mistake Zoë made was not factoring in the momentum of her cargo. Mal and Jayne continued along, just missing the back of the mule, and the weight of the packs swung her around and pulled her backwards. Before she could sort it out and apply some brakes, Jayne's pack, and Jayne, had ridden halfway up the bottom flight of the port stairway. Mal and his pack of stolen goods flew into the back wall, right where the hatch opened to the infirmary. The pack tipped on impact and threw Mal through the opening.

Zoë was vaguely aware of the bay doors closing as the ship lifted off, but she was more concerned with getting out of her seat quick and running into the back end of the bay. Jayne slid down the stairs and did a neat face plant on the deck when his cart tipped forward, but Zoë wasn't worried about him.

"Mal!" she called out as she pushed the second batch of goods out of the hatchway. Mal was lying sideways under the window that opened into the infirmary, his hair all fluffed up and his neat civvie clothes amuck.

"Gorramn, woman," he said, giving himself a shake. "Who the hell taught you to drive?"

o-o-o

Zoë threw off the ugly blond wig. She was waiting at the fore end of the cargo bay, staying close to the comm, like she might need to talk to Wash at any second. That wasn't quite the case. Wash would get them clear, and if he had trouble there wasn't a thing she'd be able to do to help. The true reason she stood where she did was that she needed to get away from the captain.

She didn't doubt that Mal was sick in his head, but that didn't stop some little part of herself from wanting to give him a sharp slap and tell him to quit playing pretend. She'd had to do that kind of thing in the war, force soldiers to face up to a bad situation so they could be some help in getting out of it. But this was different. Back when Mal had started with this, Simon had insisted that they all let the captain do what he needed, saying that his memories would return when he was ready.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes, like now, Zoë saw Mal going about business as usual, seeming upbeat because a job had come off well (other than the hard landing, that was.) It made her feel sick. Not that she wanted him to be miserable, but at least that would have been honest.

That was the problem: she couldn't stop feeling that the captain was intentionally hiding from his woes. She knew that wasn't true, but she couldn't swallow down her frustration over it.

So she got some distance, just to be sure that she wouldn't snap at him. She left Mal and Jayne at the aft end of the bay, talking out the adrenaline rush of their ride home. The merc didn't seem at all bothered by Mal's reality disconnect problem. If anything, he viewed it as a chance for mischief. That was a headache all of its own, and was why Zoë stayed in the bay. Jayne knew enough not to play with Mal's head with Zoë watching over, even from a distance.

Simon had checked the two men out, making sure that the glass of the wall they'd gone through hadn't been the cutting kind, and was currently heading up the stairs. Probably on his way to the bridge, to hang over Wash's shoulder and fret until River and Book got back on board.

_Zoë, you there?_ Wash said over the comm.

"What's happening?" Zoë replied.

_Just got word from Book. He and River made it to the train. They'll be getting to the shuttle in ten minutes, and should be docking in twenty._

"Anyone takin' interest in us leaving the warehouse?"

_Not that I can see, but I'll take us in a big circle anyhow. A few squares and triangles too. Maybe even a pentagram._

"Don't break the ship, dear."

_I'll do my best._

"If you don't need Kaylee in the engine room, send her on down to help with the goods."

_Will do._

Zoë paused a bit longer at the comm, trying to absorb Wash's light-heartedness. Mal may be completely blind to certain things, but he wasn't so far gone that he hadn't been picking up on Zoë's tetchiness from time to time. It was getting to be a challenge to come up with explanations for it; even Mal knew that a woman's courses don't go on for two weeks.

When Kaylee appeared on the catwalk, Zoë started across the bay. As unsettling as it was for Zoë to tiptoe around the hole in Mal's memory, it'd been much tougher on Kaylee. The mechanic had been all broken up over losing Inara's friendship, and hiding that hurt didn't come natural to her.

Zoë had hoped that Kaylee would find private time to talk to River, Simon, or the Shepherd, but it didn't seem to have happened. Instead, Kaylee had withdrawn into herself. A big part of that, no doubt, was that she'd killed a man. Killed him in defense of the crew, but also, as Mal had described it, pulled the trigger in anger. It was an ugly thing for a person like Kaylee to find that kind of hate in herself. Zoë'd seen others discover it in the war, but folks in the military expected that burden. Kaylee'd been completely unprepared.

The girl shied back from joining Mal and Jayne's talk about the job, her face showing clear as glass how uneasy she felt around the captain. Zoë didn't worry so much about Mal picking that up – he blamed Kaylee's moodiness on the events of the hijacking, and generally reacted by trying to be nice.

Sure enough, the captain saw the mechanic on the stairs and called out, "Kaylee, you ought'a try this!"

He held out a hoverboard that he'd untied from an upended pack of goods, then dropped it. It righted itself quick as a cat as its two anti-grav thrusters kicked on, and stabilized floating just above the deck. Mal put a foot on it and grinned.

"I ain't sure we need to have those on board," Zoë said, stopping a few paces from Mal. "Doc has enough on his mind as it is. He don't need you breakin' something trying to ride that up a bulkhead."

Mal stirred the board with his foot and looked thoughtful. "You think it can do that?" he asked. Before Zoë could answer, he gave a push and scooted all of a meter before he tilted sideways and stumbled off. Zoë moved quickly, ducking down and grabbing the thing before he could try again.

"Like I said, sir – not a good idea."

Mal frowned at Kaylee. "Gorramn grownups never let us have fun, huh?"

Kaylee smiled awkwardly. "But we got other toys," she said with a forced cheerfulness that Zoë could see right through. "I'll check on em."

Zoë went along with Kaylee, wanting to focus on business rather than Mal's mood. She and Kaylee found that the pack Jayne had rode on was fine, but Mal's stack of boxed up high-tech toys had gotten a few bruises when it crashed into the back of the bay. Zoë helped Kaylee cut the bindings loose and stack the boxes.

"Five damaged," Kaylee said when they were done. "I can fix em, but the boxes are squished. Won't ever look brand new."

Mal came to look over her shoulder. "Badger wants them all ready to sell – why don't you keep those to yourself. And hell…" He picked up three pristine boxes and held them out to her. "Why don't we have one for each of us?"

"Don't you think Badger'll wonder?" Zoë asked.

"Eight a' these less don't matter. Let's get 'em stacked away – Jayne!" Mal called the merc over, and the two men got busy moving the undamaged goods into the hidey hole in the bulkhead near the stairway.

Zoë helped Kaylee gather the eight keepers. Just before she headed upstairs, Kaylee furtively grabbed one more. Zoë gave her a questioning look.

"Eight just don't seem like the right number," Kaylee whispered. Zoë glanced at Mal, then shrugged. It was best not to make a fuss.

As Kaylee took her new project upstairs, Zoë turned to Mal. "We goin' straight to Badger?" she asked.

"Just as soon as we pick up River and Book," he replied. "Might as well get these off the ship soon as we can."

o-o-o

An hour later, Zoë found herself in Badger's office again, hovering in the back of the room with Jayne and watching Mal handle Badger's snipes. She never did enjoy visiting Badger's lair. It smelled bad. Stank of pretense and hypocrisy with a spicy undercurrent of body odor.

Badger was holding the handset of an antique comm device to his face, listening to someone on the other end. Suddenly, he flipped the coiled-up cord aside and gave Mal an accusing look. "How many?" he asked into the mouthpiece. Whatever answer he got deepened his frown, and he hung up the comm heavily.

"My man just got the goods unloaded," Badger said to Mal. "He tells me it came up short."

"Collateral damage," Mal replied, "couldn't be helped."

"And neither can this." Badger picked up a stack of bills on his desk, removed several of them, and waved a henchman over to carry the payment to Mal.

Mal counted it and gave Badger a long look.

"Nine missin'," the man explained. "And you'll pay the price on the street. It's kind'a high, seein' as the entire stock got lifted from the only store on the planet selling it."

"Nine?" Mal asked with a confused look, then he shut his mouth.

"Yeah, nine. As I recall, that's the number of folk you had on that bucket a' yours, last you came through here."

Zoë bit her tongue, not wanting to step in on the conversation. Mal wouldn't like her trying to speak for him, especially since he wouldn't understand why she was doing it, but she didn't want him to think too much about that number.

Fortunately, Badger changed the subject.

"Anyhow, you got through well enough, and that makes me feel generous. I may have another spot a' business for you. It's a somewhat… delicate operation, but I believe you have some contacts that might come in handy."

"Let me guess," Mal said, "You got something all set up, except we'll have to do all the work, and then something will go wrong and you'll leave us high and dry. Sound about right?"

Badger gave him a second's frozen stare. "If you don't care for how I do business, why you always comin' back all bright-eyed and tail a'wag?"

Zoë just held back a pained sigh. Badger had a point, and it hurt. She hated to be asking for handouts from men like this, and so did Mal, but the captain wasn't one to admit to their situation. His face crinkled up thoughtfully.

"If I recall correctly," he said, "last time you dragged me here at gunpoint, because _you_ needed _my_ help. Ain't that right, Jayne?"

"Gorramned right," Jayne said. "Plied us with alcohol and sweetcakes."

Mal gave Badger a cocky _so there_ grin and got a frustrated glare in return.

"Well, you'll be thanking me kindly for this this one," Badger said. "We'll both turn a nice profit with little trouble, provided you don't go starting fights. You'll need to be nice to those waitin' for this cargo."

"Who's that?" Mal asked.

"Ain't quite settled the details yet, but it'll be civilized type a' folk. Real ones, not put-ons like you and yours."

Mal sighed as if he was gathering the last of his patience. "So… do you have any idea where this cargo is going?"

"The Core. Londinium, most like."

"Most like?"

"I expect Londinium's where it'll fetch the best price."

"Hunh," Mal considered it, then asked, "Illegal goods?"

"Not illegal, exactly. Not if it's done right."

"And you'll be explaining that…"

"Later. We got something else that needs dealing with first. I need to be sure you ain't blown it and got seen in that mall. Can't have you gettin' picked up and wrecking this next job. Too much money in it. You see, I need to know if you was pulling my leg when you said you was on the right side of the law."

"You sent us to rob a mall just to be sure we're clear?" Zoë asked.

"Told you as much, didn't I?"

"And I told you we were clear," Mal said.

"Now we get to find out, don't we? You want this delivery job – and the money is good, I tell you that – you'd better leave that tub of yours where it's at. If no one shows up looking for you in the next few days, I'll know you're good. I got a few details to arrange in the meantime anyhow."

"Hang on," Jayne said. "We're supposed to play sittin' duck, waiting to see if we get picked up by the gorramn mall police, for two days?"

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

Mal raised his hand. "Um – I do. That is, unless you add a little coin for our idle time. Cost of those missing uTex toys'll cover it."

"In your dreams," Badger replied indignantly.

"Way I see it," Mal said. "You need us for this. Been saving it so you can make use of our shiny contacts. And that'll cost extra."

"Don't be gettin' a big head," Badger said. "Ain't Malcolm Reynolds I'm after. I figure you'll be able to run this in, seein' as you got that Companion a' yours to open up ways other folks can't get to."

Zoë couldn't let that one go. "We'll take the job," she said quickly. "We don't need the extra cash."

Mal turned back to her stiffly, a look of annoyed disbelief on his face. It wasn't a rule they'd ever set, it was just the way things were – Mal did the dealing. He'd consult with Zoë, and she'd pull him aside for quiet words if she had an opinion, but it'd never been her way to speak up like this.

This time, she had no choice, and she couldn't back down.

"We could use the days here, sir," she said, "and we got nothin' else to do anyhow."

Mal's eyes hardened when she said that last bit; she'd blown it. He had nothing to bargain with now. He was gonna be mad as hell at her, but at least he wasn't thinking about what Badger'd been saying.

Badger chuckled. "I like when you bring er along."

"I'm sure you do," Mal replied in a hard voice, still looking at Zoë. "We'll take the job, but I want that extra platinum."

Zoë cringed inside at Mal's tone. He wasn't talking tough to prove anything to Badger, the message was to her.

Badger picked that up too. He glanced between Mal and Zoë with a small smile, and seemed to find the entertainment worth a little extra cash. "You'll get alf that," he told Mal. "Come back here, day after tomorrow, if you ain't locked up in a cell, and I'll give you the details on the delivery."

"Fine," Mal said tightly, and he nodded at Badger before he turned toward the door. The captain didn't look at Zoë, but Jayne gave her a short stare.

"You're in _big_ trouble," he whispered gleefully before he followed Mal out.

o-o-o

Zoë hoped that Mal would let it be, but of course he didn't. He wasted no time either – he sent Jayne off just as soon as they cleared Badger's building.

"Get on back to the ship," he told the merc. "Me and Zoë need to have a few words."

"Glad it ain't me," Jayne muttered, then he went ahead, moving fast like he was eager to get clear of the storm.

Mal watched till he was out of earshot, then turned back to Zoë. "You got a problem with how I'm handlin' things?"

Zoë tried to play innocent. "Not sure what you mean, Captain."

"I mean that I was tryin' to work the pay out and you came jumping in like you think I'm gonna say the wrong thing. You did it when we first got this job, and just now… " He stopped, muscles in his jaw tensing.

"I wasn't trying to – " she started, but Mal turned and walked away. She was glad of it; there was no easy way to explain this. She followed, hoping he was done, but when she caught up he had another question ready. He didn't look at her when he asked it.

"What's goin' on, Zoë?"

"With Badger? Same as always. He's a cockroach."

He glanced at her sideways; he knew she was trying to misdirect him. "With the crew," he replied. "Everyone's tip-toeing around me, like they gotta be careful what they say. You all know something I don't?"

Zoë took a deep breath; apparently, Mal'd been noticing more than she thought. His question brought her to a tricky place – Simon had said not to push any truths on Mal, to let his mind do whatever needed doing. But, if Mal was asking her, it could be that he was ready to face up to reality. Could be that whatever hole he had in his noggin was repairing itself. She decided to try him out, but she'd have to go about it carefully.

"Sir, you recall what Badger was sayin' when I interrupted just now?"

He answered quickly, impatiently. "He admitted that he'd been saving this job for us. Which could have got us more pay –"

"You recall why it was that he wanted us?"

This time he hesitated, and when he replied, his voice was unsure. "He didn't say."

"Yes, he did."

They walked for a bit, but Mal's pace gradually slowed, and they began to follow traffic instead of winding through it.

"I don't recall that," he said finally. "I don't… I guess… I ain't sure."

_He suspects,_ Zoë thought. _Somewhere in there…_

"Sir, you recall the things that happened to you on Oeneus? When the Alliance had you?"

"Not like to forget that anytime soon," he replied, seeming unfazed by the change of subject.

"Well, captain, I think all that – and some stuff that's happened since – has done somethin' to you."

Mal came to stop. He looked around at the people passing them by, like he wanted to make sure that they were the usual dock riff-raff and not anyone who'd listen in, then his eyes settled on Zoë.

"You wanna explain that?"

"It's messed with you. With your memory."

The crowd on the docks streamed around them as she held his eye, waiting for him to disagree, to tell her she was full of crap, but all she saw in his face was confusion.

"How do you figure that?" he asked softly.

"There's a few things that you don't seem to be recallin', and when anyone tries to talk to you about it… it don't go so good for you."

"Like what?"

_Better start small,_ Zoë thought. "Back on Niflheim, when we were hijacked, you were alone on the bridge with that Will guy. I think he messed with your head, Captain. I think it set off whatever they done to you on Oeneus."

Mal was looking at her doubtfully. "Hijacked?" he asked, like he had no idea what she meant.

Zoë felt a chill, or maybe it was a little shift in the balance of things, like the ground had moved beneath her and up wasn't up like it used to be.

"Yeah, on Niflheim."

Mal fidgeted; he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Zoë, I ain't ever been to Niflheim." He said it like a statement, but his eyes were questioning.

_Cào wǒ bā bèi zi zŭzōng_, she thought, but all she said was, "Yes, you have." She watched realization dawn on his face, then put a hand on his arm, turning him back in the way they'd been heading, and took up a slow walk. It did no good to stare him down; best to let him think it out on his own time. She needed to do a little thinking herself.

But he was quiet for a while, a long while, and she saw _Serenity_'s nose as they approached the ship's berth. Zoë slowed down even more – they needed to talk this through before Mal got back on board.

"Sir?" she prompted.

"My ship was hijacked?" Mal finally asked.

"It was," Zoë answered. "I wasn't there at the time. I was off with Wash, Kaylee, and Jayne, shoppin' for parts for the gravity drive. This at all familiar?"

He shook his head. "How'd it go down?"

"You had four of em that came aboard. Well, there was five, but you shot one dead right off, and injured – "

Mal pulled up short. "Hang on – you're tellin' me I shot a man, and I don't even recall?"

"Apparently."

"When?"

"Bout two weeks ago."

Mal shook his head again and smiled a little, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I got nothin', Zoë. Not a thing. And – I just can't believe this. If you were tellin' me that I missing something out of the war, then maybe, but –"

"Sir, it happened."

"Two weeks ago?"

"That's right."

Mal's look told her his opinion of that. Zoë held a hand up to silence him while she thought. She needed to come up with something, anything like hard proof. Her only corroborators (besides the rest of the crew, which she preferred not to bring into this if she could avoid it) were the Feds who'd let _Serenity_ go after it all was done. But no way did Zoë want to tread that ground. No matter that Mal was supposedly in the Alliance's good graces…

That thought gave her an idea.

"Captain – you recall getting this mall job from Badger a while back? You recall him asking if we were clear?"

"I do," he replied, looking at her sharply as he tried to read her meaning.

"You told him that we actually had the Alliance owin' us. You remember that?"

Mal scoffed. "Of course."

"Why?"

"Why? That was because… um… because we…"

Zoë felt a second's regret as she watched Mal cast about, regret that she'd had to push him to this point. He looked away from her, and his face began to go pale as he realized that he had no answer.

"You don't remember, do you?" she asked.

He didn't reply, just stepped back to the corrugated steel wall of the dockyard and leaned against it.

"It's due to the folks that took over the ship," she told him. "They were out to get in the way of some Alliance business, and when we stopped them the Feds were grateful." She left out the part about Inara cutting the deal – no need to push that yet.

"I was so sure of it when I said that to Badger," Mal said faintly. "I knew why then, but now…" He looked up, and there was a hint of a plea in his eyes. "I can't remember stuff two weeks old?"

"And some things that go further back. And… and now I'm thinkin' it's getting worse."

Mal stood up, raising his voice. "Well – what the hell am I supposed to do? Does the doc know?"

"He does. He's doin' all he can to work it out."

"That's why he's been lockin' himself in the infirmary all the time?"

Zoë nodded.

"But – how do I know that? If I don't remember where I was two weeks ago, then how do I know what Simon's been up to? "

"We don't know how it works –"

His voice rose in frustration. "Then what the hell good is havin' a doctor?"

Zoë hung her head; that wasn't a fair thing to say about Simon, but she wasn't going to fight over it. Besides, Mal suddenly pushed away from the wall and kept walking, and Zoë had to hurry to follow a step behind. They reached the ship; the outer doors were open, but only the small door was ajar in the inner wall of the airlock. Mal stopped in the shaded space and turned back to her.

"One question before I go in there," he said. "Am I a danger? To the crew?"

"Course not. You're yourself – you pulled off that last job just fine. You just… you got a few gaps is all."

"Does everyone know?"

She had to look away from the expression on his face, it was too much like anguish. "There're things we can't talk about around you, sir. I had to make sure they all knew about it, just to be safe."

"Safe?"

"Safe to you, not us. You got sick one time we talked about something you'd forgot."

Mal gave her a hard questioning look, but Zoë didn't give in; he wouldn't be getting anything out of her that she didn't want to say, and she wasn't going to push the Inara issue right now. She folded her arms and stared back until he swore under his breath and made to step around her and off the ship. Zoë moved to block him, putting a hand on his shoulder to hold him up.

"I'm done talking," he said shortly.

"Where you off to?"

"To get a drink." He brushed off her hand, but she moved again to stay in his way.

"No, you ain't."

His eyes snapped to her face, and she felt the air between them crackle. She'd just stepped past her bounds, and they both knew it.

"Pardon me?" Mal said, the edge in his voice telling her to reconsider.

Zoë held her ground. "I ain't lettin' you go off on your own how you are, sir. You'd do the same for any of your crew."

"I ain't part of the crew. I'm the gorramn _captain_, and I am going out for a drink."

"Don't matter if you're the head of Parliament. I ain't gonna let you get yourself in trouble."

Mal glared for a second, then he relaxed – not all the way, just on the outside – and he tried on a grin. "What? You think I'll forget my way back?"

Zoë would have none of his attempted charm, not now. "Could be. You do have a way of gettin' lost, even when your mind is workin' like it should."

Mal's grin disappeared, and for a second she thought he was going to take this little confrontation up a notch, but then he sighed and stepped back, looking defeated. If she'd been anyone else, she knew, he'd have just flattened her and gone where he pleased. But she'd earned the right to stand in his way; she'd earned the right to beat him without throwing a punch.

He put a hand against the inner door to balance himself, looking deflated. "So I'm losin' my mind too?" he asked softly. "All the rest of it ain't enough?"

Zoë felt herself slump as well. After all they'd seen together, all that'd been taken away from them both, she never imagined it'd come to something like this. Not that he'd ever said as much, but sure as hell it'd been Mal's goal, after the war, to escape this kind of helplessness.

But now wasn't the time for pity. Talking nice to Mal did him no service; he needed a hard dose of the truth while he was open to it. Zoe folded her arms and steeled herself against the sight of his bowed head.

"Looks like you might be, sir," she said bluntly. "That's how it is, and it's best that you know. You need to let me take care of some things for you, just until Simon figures this out and sets you to rights."

Mal looked away from her with an impatient huff, showing his opinion of that.

"Now," Zoë continued, "I'll send someone to get you anything you want, but I won't let you go out there on your own. Don't fight me on this, captain. It's your own well-being I'm lookin' after. You've got to trust me."

Mal gave her an appraising look. "You know I trust you, Zoë," he said. "It's just… " He turned away, rubbing his eyes. "This is a helluva lot to handle."

"Whiskey?" she suggested.

He nodded and muttered, "Lots of it," before he turned to walk through the doorway, but then he paused once more.

"And you set about gettin' us stocked up. Crazy or not, I'm taking that job, and that means a trip to the Core. You'll need to set it up. I'm like to – " He stopped, then laughed once, short and dry. "I guess I'm like to forget somethin'."

Zoë stayed where she was until his footsteps disappeared into the distance, then she entered the ship quietly. She needed to find Wash. No one else on board would go buy booze for the captain, not without asking questions she couldn't handle right now, and she wasn't about to leave the ship. The only one who'd be playing guard to Mal was her.

o-o-o

She waited outside Mal's bunk until Wash returned. He handed over his purchase and otherwise let her be, for which she was grateful.

She went down the ladder cautiously, the bottle in her hand but her senses prepped for the unexpected. Her worry wasn't needed; Mal was waiting quietly, sitting on his bed with two small glasses set out beside him.

"Welcome to the asylum," he said without humor. "You just made medication time."

"I'll be gettin' Kaylee down here to put paddin' on the walls tomorrow," Zoë replied.

Mal gave her an uncertain look, then shook his head. "That ain't funny. You could be serious for all I know."

She lifted the corner of her mouth in a small grin. "Maybe I am. Think of the fun you could have –"

"Just give me the gorramn bottle," he snapped impatiently, holding a hand out.

Zoë passed it over and pulled the chair up next to the bed. By the time she'd settled down, Mal was holding a half full glass out to her. She took it and waited till he poured his own, then they tapped the glasses together and drained them. She immediately held hers out for a refill.

"You sure you wanna get drunk with a wacko?" he asked.

"You ain't wacko, sir," she replied, then waited while he poured. "You ain't a bit wacko. You just had some stuff happen to you. Ain't your fault."

"Does it matter?" he asked. "Either I was born with it or I picked it up somewhere along the line. But here it is." He paused to take a healthy sip, then looked down at the glass. "This ain't bad," he said. "I take it Jayne didn't do the shopping?"

"Nope. I told my man to get something good."

"To celebrate the occasion?"

Zoë shrugged.

Mal sipped again, then looked down into his glass. "I know, Zoë," he said softly.

She wasn't sure what he meant, but saw that an explanation was coming. He swirled the amber liquid and spoke slowly, hesitantly, as if the words were hard to string together.

"I knew before you said anything. Sort of. I've been havin' dreams. Really… intense. This morning, I woke up thinkin'… thinkin' I was broken." He looked into the distance, his eyes unfocused as he tried to remember. "There was pain, whatever I dreamin' about, there was pain. More than I could take, and I knew something wasn't right with me.

"Other times, when I'm awake, there's stuff I can't rightly… I try to think on, but I… " He shrugged, unable to explain, and he focused on Zoë again. "I just know what you say is true. Cause when I try… when I try to dig into some ideas, I get all tired and… I can't get there." He raised a hand to his forehead, as if he wanted to point out the places in his own head that weren't his to see.

"Maybe you ought'a not try," Zoë said. "Doc says this must be happening for a reason, and you're best to let it run its course. For now."

Mal held her look for a bit, then he tossed back the rest of his drink. "Ain't like I got a choice."

Zoë waited until he refilled both of their glasses again. "Sir – " she started

"Ain't no need to be callin' me 'sir' now."

"Sir," she said more firmly. "There was a time I wasn't so sure about you, and it took a while for me to learn. But I'm tellin' you – you can be sure of me. I'm gonna figure this out. I ain't gonna let you down."

Mal didn't respond. He had his eyes on the whiskey bottle, blindly studying the label.

"It might be that you can't trust your own mind," Zoë continued, "so trust mine. I won't lead you astray. If you hold on to anything, you hold on to that."

Mal set down the bottle and was still for a while. They both sat and sipped until their glasses were empty and it was time to refill. Mal wasn't so steady pouring this time, and Zoë wasn't so steady with holding her glass out, but wasn't that the point?

"You remember," he asked, "you remember when you caught me drinking with the gang that one time? My first week?"

Zoë had to laugh. "Shit, sir. You were so green. You were like to get yourself blown to bits going into battle stone sober. Now, hungover, you'd a' had a snowball's chance – "

Mal interrupted. "Battle was a whole gorramn week away. You had no call to be breakin' up a good party."

"Maybe you hurt my feelings, with what you were tellin' them all about me."

"Yeah, and maybe you hurt my face. Broke my tooth, to be factual." Mal curled his lip up and stuck a finger in his mouth, trying to find the old wound. "I had a ragged tooth to deal with. Just on the eve of battle, too."

"As I hear it, battle was a whole gorramn week away."

Whatever smartass reply Mal had ready was swallowed up by a belly laugh, the kind she hadn't heard out of the captain in a long time. And maybe the joke wasn't funny enough for that, but no way was she gonna get in the way of Mal blowing off steam.

They talked about the war for a while. Talked about after the war a little, but not much. That wasn't funny no matter how trashed you were. Then they talked about _Serenity_, about the first time Zoë saw her, and the years after when they collected the crew – except Inara, of course. Zoë didn't have it in her to try the captain's memory about that. After a while, the talk started getting caught up to the present, and neither of them wanted to go there.

Mal picked up the bottle for another refill, but got stuck staring at it, like he was wondering how a full bottle got to having only two fingers of juice in the bottom of it. Zoë looked at it too, her mind slowly coming around to what that near empty bottle meant.

It meant that fun time was about over. Sleep was coming on quick, with reality and pain to follow after, when the morning came and life rolled on.

"Get yourself ready f'bed," she mumbled.

Mal lowered the bottle. "M'ready," he replied.

"No, you ain't. And don't be thinkin' I'll do the mom thing and take your boots off once you pass out. I ain't your gorramn momma."

"Pì huà, Zoë. I know that. Known it since the day we met." His eyes were barely open slits as he let out a drunken chortle. "Even my momma was never as much a bitch as you."

Zoë wasn't about to deny it. "Still am, and don't you forget. Take your damn boots off and put on your PJs. I ain't lookin'."

Mal didn't move from where he was sprawled on the bed. "You're too shit-faced to see anythin' anyhow," he slurred.

Zoë would have thrown something at him, but she was too comfortably settled in the chair to make the effort. And, really, he was right. She hadn't been this lit in a long while. She let herself spin for a time, hoping she hadn't drank herself to the point of getting sick. Puking wasn't a choice way to end the day.

After a while, she heard Mal moving around and swearing, like whatever he was doing was a lot harder than it should have been. But then he got quiet, and Zoë started thinking it was time to head to her own bed. When she finally decided that her stomach and its contents were like to stay where they ought to be, she roused herself and sat up.

Mal was stretched out on his bed, one boot off, the rest of his clothes rumpled but very much in place. As she worked herself up to her feet, he started snoring.

Zoë'd had a lot of experience being drunk, but not so much with taking a man's boot off. (Situation like this with Wash, it wasn't his boots she was interested in removing.) So it took some time and she nearly fell over twice, but she got that damn second boot off his foot. She gave up on the rest and threw a blanket over him – he could sleep in his clothes. After moving the near empty bottle and the two used glasses over to his desk where they wouldn't get stepped on, she stumbled to the ladder and dragged herself up it.

Wash was waiting for her in their bunk. He welcomed her with open arms, and didn't say a thing about the way her feet tangled over each other as she slid off the ladder, or how she fell heavily into bed with her breath stinking of whiskey.

She lay back and distantly felt her husband pulling her boots off with considerably more skill than she'd used with Mal. Next she knew, Wash was laying next to her, and somehow she'd gotten all naked, and the arms around her provided a solid anchor in a verse that was spinning out of her control.

o-o-o

Translations  
cào wǒ bā bèi zi zŭzōng: Fuck eight generations of my ancestors  
pì huà: shit; nonsense


	3. Chapter 3 of 14: Simon

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Simon**

_Mal finds himself standing just outside _Serenity_'s engine room, his back against the bulkhead, his arms folded across his chest, and his head hanging. Kaylee is stepping up to him; she reaches out like she means to give him a hug._

_Gently, he blocks her hands and pushes her away. He recalls this situation with sudden clarity, and knows that he can't bear to accept comfort from his mechanic. He pointed a gun at her, just yesterday. Surely he hadn't meant to, but that doesn't change the fact that he's done it. _

_This isn't a time to be trusting himself. He's not ready to pass all the blame on to the Alliance doctors on Oeneus, the ones who'd reached into his head and mixed things up. They may have left him seeing nightmares, but the nightmares are all his own. His reaction is his own as well – no one made him draw his gun and take aim. _

_Violence became his way long before those monsters got ahold of him._

"_No, Kaylee," he says. "I can't."_

_He turns his back, leaving the engine room feeling numb, nearly blind to the path his feet lead him along. He hears Zoë following. Her soft footsteps are a different kind of comfort, one he's glad to have. Zoë'll do what's necessary; she'll see to it that he doesn't hurt anyone. _

_And it doesn't shame him that Zoë sees him like this, half-crazy and near unhinged. It's nothing she hasn't seen before. He's seen her pretty bad off too, and they have nothing to hide from each other._

_Maybe it's this line of thought that sets off yet another hallucination, pulling it up through brain cells worn tired and sore by the Alliance's interrogation. Or maybe it's a ghost that's been waiting years for him to be ready to see it afresh. Whatever the reason, the room he finds at the end of the corridor isn't the one it should be. _

_He smells it first: the rot of death underlying the sharp chemical tang of an uncontained engine. He looks up as he enters a large space full of shadows; it may have been a bay in some mid-sized carrier once, but not a soul could tell by looking at it now. Every bit has been wrecked and stained and in some way defiled. The metal of the bulkheads is covered over by gore._

_Mal forces his eyes away from the walls. For a long second, he thinks he's really here, back in a moment that passed damned near a decade ago. As he did then, he prays he's not too late, and frantically searches for anything alive. Scratch that – anything that's alive and human. There's a crowd of things that are now glaring and growling at him for interrupting their sport, but they can't be human. No way they're human._

_Two people are still fighting. One's a young private, on his feet and firing into the crowd of howling creatures. The other is on the ground in the center of the bay – Corporal Alleyne. She's down and those things are on her. Her screams are full of rage, not agony, but Mal can see blood where the creatures claw and bite into her skin._

_He's just wondering what happened to the gun he should be holding when he hears a faint throat-clearing behind him – Zoë. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, remembering that what he sees isn't real. His mind is playing tricks. His mind has been tricked; it's been doped and cut into and shocked and played like a fiddle. But now he knows the game, and now he can choose not to believe. _

_He ignores the corporal's screams and makes his way to the bulkhead, then sighs with relief when his hands touch clean, cold metal, not the dripping mess on the inside of the Reaver ship. He tips his forehead against the wall, closes his eyes, and pictures the dining room of _Serenity_. He imagines the shape of the Firefly around him, extending the deck under his feet and the bulkhead against his palms until they form the center section of his ship._

_Eventually, he opens his eyes, and turns to find that the room has gone back to how it should be. There's no tormented corporal and panicked private, only an empty table. That's the way then, he thinks. Stay connected to the ship. The ship is an anchor._

_He remembers that Zoë is beside him, watching. He hopes that she won't ask. _

_Bless her heart, she doesn't._

_"Doc's been sayin' he wants to draw some blood," she tells him. "See if the drugs are clearin' out." _

_Mal nods and turns toward the infirmary. All the way there he trails his left hand along the bulkhead, walking slow and steady like a man lost in a dream._

o-o-o

Simon wrapped both hands around his mug, hunching over it and savoring the warmth against his palms. He hadn't slept well last night. In fact, he hadn't slept well for the past two weeks. It seemed there was no peace of mind to be had lately.

He smiled grimly to himself. _Serenity_. The word took on all kinds of new meanings when it referred to this ship. It'd been hard enough living here for the first several months, when all his mental and emotional resources had been focused on his sister. He'd thought that was a hardship – one he didn't regret and would never take back, but still a hardship – to give up his old life and ignore his own needs for so long. Now he just wished everything could be that simple again, that all he had to focus on was the single task of helping River. Since Niflheim, his problems had become much more complicated and immediate.

For one, he couldn't seem to get Kaylee out of his mind. He'd had a friendship, and even a little flirtation, with the mechanic for some time. Nothing complicated - his main worry had been trying not to say anything blatantly stupid to her. It was so different now. They hardly ever talked, but she was in his thoughts almost constantly...

He shook his head at himself; there was no use is getting distracted like this, and wishing for what he couldn't have. He'd known exactly what he was doing when he made the decision to get River out of the Academy. His old life – the hospital, his parents, any chance for romance of his own – was over.

He suddenly became aware of what he was thinking and shoved the idea deep into the back of his mind. He looked across the room nervously; River was the only one present, entertaining herself by humming as she played in one of the big, soft chairs in the dining room alcove. She rotated onto her back and slid down until her head rested on the floor, her feet against the back of the chair. As Simon watched, she kicked off, skinny legs waving and twisting in the air, making her skirt flip up to show a very inelegant pair of plaid boxers.

Simon blew his breath out in relief. She was too taken with her own errant imagination to be listening in on him, if "listening" was the proper word for what she did. She caught his thoughts from time to time, often enough that he was almost getting used to it. But if she'd overheard this one, known that he was feeling something like remorse about the direction his life had gone, she'd likely be thrown into a downward spiral of guilt, thinking it was her fault that he'd forsaken as much as he had.

He cut off that train of thought before it could capture him again, trying to empty his mind as he watched River play. She squirmed sideways, her legs tilting to land on another chair, then pushed off the floor and righted herself. Self-consciously, she fixed her hair and clothes, as if worried that someone had witnessed her antics and would think her silly. When she saw that her only audience was Simon, she leaned back with a sigh of relief. Well – maybe there a little impatience in it, too, as if it would be refreshing to have someone besides her big brother pay attention to her.

Which was another reason why Simon needed to let go of his own worries. The medication he'd been giving River since Oeneus were still proving remarkably effective, and her improved condition could have been a load off his mind, but her lucidity had brought on a new problem which all his medical expertise and developing abilities as a trauma psychiatrist were no match for.

River had decided to grow up, and there wasn't a thing that was going to get in her way.

Simon rubbed his eyes, trying to focus enough to think it through. His little sister was reaching adulthood. She would be eighteen soon – in less than a week, in fact. Eighteen, but not eighteen. Years of being locked up at the Academy with little or no social interaction had left her far behind the usual developmental state of an eighteen year old.

However, the – Simon disliked using the word, but – the _boyfriend_ she'd briefly had on Niflheim had started a few wheels turning in her head, and likely in other parts of her body. As her older brother, Simon really didn't want to think about that. As her doctor, he had to. He'd spent days studying the scan he'd taken of her brain on Ariel. With her amgydala stripped, she was easily overwhelmed by any emotion she felt. Add to that the imbalances that came with puberty and the discovery of her own sexuality, and what he had was… a big brother's nightmare. Especially considering that, with her fugitive status, the only people River had available for exploring her new interest were the ones on this ship.

There were eight people aboard now that Inara was gone, which left River seven options. He could obviously rule out himself, Zoë, Wash, and the Shepherd. As for Mal, River might look up to the captain, but as a father figure and hero, not a lover. And Mal certainly didn't view River as an option for romance; Simon was confident of that. River had never shown any signs of preferring women, so Kaylee seemed highly unlikely. As for Jayne, that was so far beyond imagining that…

Simon's eyes snapped toward the fore hatch as the big man himself came down the stairs, stomping heavily as usual. The mercenary walked past the seating area without a glance at River, but it was obvious that she was very aware of his arrival. Simon watched her straighten in her chair, holding her chin up and shoulders back. The graceful posture of a trained dancer immediately transformed her from an awkward, bored girl to a poised young woman – that is, if the messy hair and wrinkled dress could be overlooked.

"Got any brew left, Doc?" Jayne asked with a nod toward Simon's mug.

"It's tea," Simon answered shortly.

"Tea is brewed," Jayne replied with a snort. "Thought you was supposed to be smart."

Simon didn't reply. He was caught up with watching River; she rose from her chair and stepped around the corner toward the galley, then leaned against the bulkhead, her eyes fastened on Jayne. Simon gripped his mug again, fingers tightening.

"Have to heat up water," River told Jayne helpfully. "That's how you make tea." She tipped her head against the wall in a move that couldn't be mistaken for anything but flirting.

Except if you're Jayne.

"I do know that, moonbrain," the man said with a dismissive glance.

"The water should still be hot," Simon said hastily, hoping to head off further discussion between the two of them. This was appalling – Jayne? The barely literate man-ape, singled out by River? And not for stabbing, which Simon would much prefer.

But he wouldn't let it happen. There were medications that made it impossible for men to… well, perform. Simon would get one of those and slip it into Jayne's brew before he let the Neanderthal get anywhere near his little sister.

River turned to Simon suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her expression cold enough to chill his tea. It seemed that she was "listening" now, and not pleased. She glared for a few seconds, then turned away and moved to the galley island, standing where Simon couldn't see her.

"So… you like tea?" she asked Jayne lightly. Simon could see Jayne's reaction; the man's face wrinkled up in confusion.

"What?" he asked.

"Tea," River said, her voice wheedling. "Do you like it?"

Simon pushed his chair back. "River," he said sternly as he stood up, "you have things to do. Elsewhere."

She peeked around the galley, her face tense. "No, I don't…" she said through clenched teeth, then she looked sideways at Jayne and bared her teeth in an attempt at an innocent grin. The effect was actually rather creepy.

Simon grabbed her arm. "Yes, you do." He towed her along behind him and was about to make a clean getaway through the aft hatch, but a gruff voice stopped him.

"Hold it right there, Doc."

Simon turned to see Zoë in the fore hatch, leaning against the frame, her eyes puffy and squinting as if the soft lighting was painful.

"You got… any… " She paused and winced, lifting a hand to her forehead. Apparently, her own voice hurt her as much as the lighting. "…hangover fixes?" she finished.

"Yes, I do," Simon replied, impatient at being stopped over this. "It's called not drinking."

Zoë glared at him. "Doc, you say one more thing that ain't _Take this and you'll feel better_, and I will shoot you dead."

Her hand went to her hip – to Simon's relief, there was no gun there, but he wasn't in the clear. Zoë's glower fixed on him again, her eyes hard but thoughtful, like she had plenty of other methods of inflicting pain and death and she was having trouble picking her favorite. She started reaching down toward her boot, but was stopped by her husband.

"Let me help, dear," Wash said from the corridor behind her. He snaked his head under her arm, then held her around the waist and guided her to the table. As they walked, Wash silently mouthed words at Simon: _Please, pretty pretty pretty please!_ Simon shrugged, and out of pity for the pilot as much as self-preservation, decided to help. He could at least take River with him. He tightened his hold on her wrist and started toward the hatch again.

"Staying here!" she hissed, and pulled her arm away with a deft move that surprised him. Before he could grab at her again, Zoë spoke up.

"I know you two ain't gonna start fightin' now." Her glare was dark enough that Simon gave up on his plans to rush River away. Anyway, with Zoë in this mood there wouldn't be any mischief happening in the few moments he'd be gone.

He wasn't quite right about that – when he returned from the infirmary, Jayne had settled in the alcove with his tea, leaving the table for Zoë and Wash. River was seated right next to him. She had her legs bent in front of her, her skirt hiked up to show quite a bit of thigh as well as some plaid boxer.

"River!" Simon snapped. She looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, a sure sign that she was up to something. Before Simon could call her bluff, he heard a couple metallic clicks, a sound he'd come to recognize in his time out in the Black.

Zoë had her head down on the table, but her near arm was held out rigidly. She was pointing a small gun at him, a gun that she'd just cocked.

"Uh… take this and you'll feel better," Simon said uncertainly, holding up a pill bottle and rattling it a little so she could hear.

Still without looking, Zoë adjusted something on the gun – the safety, Simon hoped – and reached under the table to slip it into her boot. Then she held her hand out, palm up, and Simon walked over and gave her two pills, then one more just to be sure. They disappeared behind the veil of frazzled hair, as did a mug that Wash was offering from her other side.

Simon went to the alcove and tried to grab at River's arm, but she eluded him, moving to a further chair. Maybe it was her dance training, but she could be slippery when she chose. Simon sighed, and rather than risk Zoë's wrath, took a seat where he could keep an eye on the situation.

With Zoë's condition and associated bad mood, it was best to keep the chatter down. Everyone seemed to understand that except River, who aimed a string of softy voiced but cheerful questions at Jayne.

"What kind of music do you like?" she asked.

Jayne glared, but River wasn't put off.

"Do you ever dance?"

Jayne's frown deepened.

"What's your favorite color?"

Jayne looked at her steadily for a moment before he answered. "Sure as hell ain't red."

River's mouth pursed, as if Jayne was in poor taste to mention that whole _he-looks-better-in-red_ thing. Simon was actually quite pleased that the episode with the butcher's knife was still on the merc's mind.

But River didn't give up. She tapped her fingers against her leg while she thought, then smiled sweetly and tried again. This time she chose a subject closer to Jayne's heart.

"How many guns do you have?"

To Simon's relief, Jayne looked at River like she was an overgrown gnat which he really needed to swat. The mercenary glanced at Zoë, who was starting to look a little more alive, then at Simon, who tried to appear as hostile and threatening as possible.

Apparently, Jayne decided his best option at this point was to cut and run.

"I got stuff to do," he said gruffly as he stood up.

"I'll help!" River offered.

"No!" Jayne and Simon ordered in unison. They shared an uncomfortable look, but before Simon could speak, Jayne continued.

"Chores. I got chores… swab the deck. Gotta do it… alone… or I'll be in loads a'trouble." He pointed at River. "You. Stay." He turned his back and practically fled from the room, muttering something that sounded like _sā dàn nú_.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but silence. Zoë gradually recovered, and when she was able to sit up somewhat straight in her chair, Wash went into the galley to fix breakfast. A while after that, the captain made his own entrance.

Mal looked just as rough as Zoë had. Simon expected that Zoë would show some sympathy, but she just grinned.

"How you feelin', captain?" she asked.

"Shit," Mal said, without explaining whether he meant that as a description or an order or something else entirely. He held his hand over his forehead, but Simon could see that his eyes were puffy and red.

"Doc – meds," he ordered as he stumbled toward the table.

"Of course," Simon said with a sigh. He set a few pills on the table in front of Mal's chair, Wash put a mug next to them, and Mal made short work of the medication.

"Decent whiskey ain't supposed to give such a gorramn bad hangover," Mal mumbled a few quiet minutes later.

"How much did you have?" Simon asked.

"Me and Zoë damn near kicked the bottle," Mal admitted. "Big bottle."

"I thought the point of decent whiskey was to enjoy the taste," Simon suggested, earning himself nothing but hate-filled stares. He gave up and the room sank into silence. River stayed in the alcove, bored again now that the object of her flirtation was gone. She stretched across several chairs and stared at the ceiling; Simon couldn't help but suspect that she was plotting.

"Where'd I get that stuff, anyhow?" Mal eventually asked the room in general. He had finished his tea and was beginning to look slightly more human. No one answered, and he focused on Zoë. "And why'd we go to drinkin' so much?"

Zoë's jaw tightened as she stared at Mal. "You don't recall?" she asked.

Mal put his hands to his forehead. "It's all kind of… blurry."

Zoë gave Simon a quick look that clearly said _nán dù_.

"You remember what we talked about yesterday?" she asked Mal, speaking slowly as if it'd help him understand. "About Oeneus – about how they messed with your head?"

Mal squinted at her from the arch his hands made in front of his face. "Oeneus?"

"Sweet Oeneus," Wash said dreamily from the galley. "The land of gun trafficking and new Alliance bases. And let's not leave out the fish."

Mal gingerly turned toward Wash.

"Fish?"

o-o-o

Technically, the infirmary wasn't Simon's. But, in reality, in the daily course of ship's business, he did own it. In his time aboard _Serenity_ he'd taken over the space, and he was used to being the boss here.

Apparently, that only applied when Zoë wasn't in a mood.

"Mal's gettin' worse by the day," she told Simon, her face and voice fierce enough to make him back away from her. "The 'leave him be' method ain't workin'."

"Zoë, it's all I have," he replied lamely.

"You'd best get something better, and you'd best get it now!"

"What do you expect me to do? I'm not a magician! I can't see inside his head!"

Simon felt his back touch the wall, but Zoë kept on, stepping up until she was right in his face. "Doc, let me be clear. I am not gonna sit by and watch that man disappear. Anything that can help him, anything that you need so you can do your job like you're supposed to, figure it out." Her voice rose, desperation coming through as a bit of shakiness that she couldn't steady. "You are gonna suss out what's happening to him, and make it stop! You understand me?"

Simon was momentarily speechless. He'd never heard Zoë talk with that kind of passion, and he felt himself completely unequal to it.

He'd chosen his profession carefully. He liked medicine, and loved surgery. It carried with it all the satisfaction of solving problems and helping people, but more than that – it was neat. It was tidy, with each step clearly defined and the challenges lined up in front of him like well ordered dominoes, ready to fall one by one as he completed his tasks.

People were different. Not only patients, but their families and loved ones, the teary mob in the waiting room looking for good news and hope. Those were entirely unpredictable and immovable in their grief and protectiveness. Simon'd gotten used to facing their impassioned pleas for reassurance with dry medical facts and details of surgical procedures, but he'd never been able to comfort and reassure. He just didn't have that talent.

"I can't do anything unless I know more," he said, struggling to maintain his usual calm, professional manner. "And I don't mean research. I've tried that, and it's not helping. I need to know more about Mal. I'm… I'm flying blind."

To his relief, Zoë backed off, giving him space to breathe. She paced across the room once, then turned back, more in control of herself. "Fine," she said. "So what'll fix that?"

Simon glanced around the infirmary. "I don't have enough here. It's so limited – "

"Anything, Simon. Anything you say, I'll make it happen."

Suddenly, it all clicked into place, and Simon knew exactly what he needed. "A scan," he said. "A very good one. We'll be going in to the Core, right?"

The glint in Zoë's eye said that she knew exactly what he meant.

o-o-o

It wasn't easy, operating behind Mal's back. But Zoë and Simon managed to spread the word over the course of the afternoon, calling for a meeting after the captain took his lingering hangover to bed for the night. Zoë went about it with a tight voice and a hard set to her shoulders, like it made her sick to be secretive, but there was no other option. The crew needed to know the new situation.

Everyone had dinner on their own, on Simon's orders; it was best that no one make conversation with Mal until they got filled in. There was no argument, since no one was in much of a mood to be social.

Finally, Mal headed off to his bunk. A half hour later, the rest of the crew gathered together in the dining room. Zoë took up a spot just outside the fore hatch, where she'd hear Mal's bunk open if the captain decided to come out for a late night snack. The others sat around the table; Book was the first to ask the question that must have been in all of their minds.

"Have you made progress with the captain?"

"No," Simon admitted. "Not anything meaningful. I believe there was some sort of physical damage done to him on Oeneus, and it's taken time to manifest. That seems obvious. But here's the thing… it appears to be getting worse."

"Worse?" Kaylee asked, the word coming out low and tired. Simon heard her weariness but didn't allow himself to dwell on it, nor did he look directly at her while he replied. Right now, he had to keep his focus on the captain.

"Yesterday, he didn't know about the hijacking on Niflheim, and as of this morning he no longer recalls being held by the Alliance on Oeneus."

"But how can that be?" Book asked. "So many things have changed since then. We have the new mule in the cargo bay – how does he explain that?"

Simon shrugged. "I'm not sure. He might not even notice it, or see the inconsistency. A mind in a state of delusion can rearrange facts, alter observations, and ignore anything that doesn't fit. Even if it makes no logical sense."

"So how can we explain it to him?" Book asked.

"Post a calendar in his bunk," Jayne suggested with a sneer. "Circle the gorramn day."

"No," Simon interrupted firmly. "It's the same as I told you all before – that would be dangerous. You can't force a damaged mind." He couldn't stop himself from glancing at River, who was watching from her chair in the lounge. She was managing to stay upright this time, but didn't seem overly interested in the discussion.

"We gotta do _something_," Kaylee said. "We keep leavin' him alone, and he keeps gettin' worse."

Simon looked down at his hands. It wasn't often that he was powerless to treat a patient. "Anything I try could increase the damage. I don't really understand what's happening to him." He looked up to glance at Zoë. "Which is why I need to know more."

Zoë gave him a small nod – it was time for her to take over and explain the plan. She motioned to her husband; he took her place by Mal's bunk so she could come into the room.

"I know y'all recall Ariel," she said. "Well, we're gonna do it again."

Jayne snorted. "Yeah, cause that worked out well." The merc figured out too late that he shouldn't have brought that up; he met Simon's eye for barely a second, then looked down at the deck and clammed up.

Zoë ignored him. "This time we ain't out to steal medicines. We just need to get Mal to an imager, see if we can't figure out what's going on with him. It ought'a be simpler cause we don't need to take River, and Simon thinks we can do it without him too, if we get someone else to run the scanner. We walk in, get it done, and walk right back out."

"The hospital we're going to is part of a research institution on Londinium," Simon said. "I went to a conference there once; they have a holo-imager, but since it's on a campus the security isn't very tight. They weren't checking identification when I was there, at least, not of visitors who looked somewhat respectable. The EMT suits we have from Ariel should be enough."

"We got at least a few days fore we get there," Zoë said. "Simon has plenty of time to work out the details. Meantime, what the rest of you need to concern yourselves with is the captain."

Zoë crossed her arms, and her face took on that look that no one was stupid enough to argue with. No one except Mal. And, on occasion, Wash.

"This is what you're all gonna do," she said. "Watch what you say around him. There could be somethin' we're doin' to make it worse. So keep the talk to what's happenin' in the here and now. Makin' dinner. Workin' on the ship. Little things. And don't argue with him, no matter if he starts sayin' things that make no sense."

"I don't agree with this," a deep voice said, and everyone turned to Book. "It seems like we're encouraging his – delusion or whatever you want to call it. The captain I know wouldn't want that. He'd expect the truth, cold and hard as it may be."

"I told him, Shepherd," Zoë said, suddenly sounding tired. "Why d'you think we got drunk last night? It's cause I told him and he believed it was true, and it tore him up to know what was happening. But this morning, it was gone, out of his head like I never said a word to him. Now maybe you got the time to be givin' Mal the talk every day and the heart to watch what it does to him, but I don't."

"And I wouldn't let you," Simon added. He'd spoken softly, but everyone looked at him as if he'd just issued a command. He realized that he had, and he meant it. His voice strengthened. "I won't allow anyone to do anything which could further damage the captain." He glanced around the table; Kaylee met his eye and looked away quickly. Everyone else seemed busy with their own thoughts, except for Zoë, who gave him a nod of approval.

"So that's the plan," she said. "Cept for one more thing. Given how Mal is, it don't seem wise to be following all his orders without givin' it a thought or two. I'll try to stay near him as much as I can. Y'all need to look to me – not openly, if you can help it at all – but look to me to make sure that whatever he's saying is all right. I'm the final word from now on."

This hadn't been her idea; Simon had suggested it. He'd expected her to argue, but she'd seen the logic of it right away. They couldn't have Mal making decisions when he wasn't able to understand the situation.

Jayne gaped at Zoë for a second before he spoke. "Hang on – you're takin' over for the captain?"

"I am."

"Without even tellin' him?"

"That's right."

"Ain't that mutiny?"

Zoë gave the merc a straight, hard look. "Call it what you want, but this is how it is. You got a problem we need to work out?"

Jayne pursed his lips to one side and narrowed his eyes, but then his face broke into a smile. "Aw, hell," he said, "this could be fun. Specially if he figures what you're up to. Anyone wanna lay a bet on who'd win the fight?"

He looked around for takers, but no one shared his amusement. Simon felt a second's temptation to sedate the mercenary, to drug him and lock him up for as long as possible to keep him away from Mal. And from River.

"You stick to spectatin', Jayne," Zoë said in a dangerous voice. "You mess with Mal at all, you'll be wishing he was still in charge, and not me. Dŏng ma?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jayne muttered. "We done?"

Zoë looked over the crew. "We're done. Everyone all right with this?"

"No!" Kaylee answered quickly. "I ain't all right. Not a bit of this is all right!"

Zoë's stance, and her voice, softened. "I know, Kaylee. But there ain't no other way."

No one had anything to add. Simon sat still as the crew slowly and silently scattered. He watched Kaylee leave, looking lost, her arms wrapped tight around her middle as if she was hugging herself. He wished he could explain this better, make her see that he was doing the best he could. Maybe it wasn't good enough, but it was all he had.

He glanced toward her retreating back one more time as it occurred to him – maybe he was missing out on even more than he'd thought, failing on yet another front. Two weeks ago, Kaylee had shot a man, and watched him die right in front of her. She wasn't one to do that and set it aside, not like the captain and Zoë and Jayne.

Simon blew out a sad breath; he should be trying to help her. He should be talking to her, somehow walking her through the guilt and remorse that must be a horrible burden. But he just didn't know how.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and raised his head. The room was empty, except for River. She stood next to the table, looking down at him.

"Lonely," she said softly, her eyes boring into him like she trying to explain something very important. Then she shook her head and left.

o-o-o

Medical journals were what he needed. Articles about memory loss and methods for combating damage caused by emotional trauma. Even if Simon didn't learn anything, he might at least wear himself out enough to sleep. And stop himself from thinking about Kaylee – that was a path he couldn't tread. She might need help, but not the kind he could offer now, when he had so many other things to concentrate on.

_Lonely._

Had River been talking about herself, or him? Maybe the word should have been _needy_. He couldn't be that, not now. Until he found somewhere safe for River, he couldn't think about the _need_. He couldn't let himself remember the way that Kaylee had pressed him against the bulkhead, about the firm grip of her hands on his shoulders, the warmth of her breath on his neck…

His blood started going to a place which would be of no help to his research, and he tried to reason the feeling away. Whatever Kaylee had done that day, she certainly hadn't meant to get this reaction from him. If she had touched him out of desire, why would she have quit talking to him immediately after? Why did she hardly ever look him in the eye anymore?

Clearly, she saw what she'd done, understood that he was attracted to her, and now she was trying to warn him off. Because she wasn't really interested after all. Not like that. He tried to shake off the ache that the thought caused, pulling up an article that he'd abandoned the night before.

After two paragraphs, he found himself staring off into empty space again.

_This is a problem I can't have,_ he told himself sternly. _I need to be able to concentrate. I have to be at my best._

So maybe it'd be better if he dealt with it, faced up to this thing that was eating at him. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. It wasn't just sex, although there was that. Like a hum in the background of his body, the desire was there. Kaylee had stirred up something he'd kept deeply buried for a long time, and it wasn't easy to shut down again.

But Simon was not a man to be ruled by his libido; he'd tried that once, and he knew now that it wasn't his way. The distraction of his body's unmet needs, while problematic, wasn't the real difficulty. He sighed, because he knew exactly what the problem was.

He hadn't realized, until he lost it, what a boon and a comfort Kaylee's company had been. He didn't quite understand why that was; she was completely different from him and everyone he'd ever known. Her background and education, the way she dressed, the way she spoke, the way she viewed the verse – all were strange to him.

At the same time, there were a few similarities between them. Kaylee was a surgeon in her own way, operating on the ship with a level of natural genius to rival his own. She had a way of losing herself in her work with a single-mindedness that he knew well. Unlike him, however, she did it with a sense of ease and humor that he'd never been able to match. Her warmth and playfulness was natural, unforced. She didn't try to be anything but who she was.

Now that he found himself lacking her company, now that he could to only watch her from afar, Simon realized that he had grown to admire Kaylee. He could learn from her. She could show him how to be a warmer, kinder person, without giving up his professionalism.

And then there was the way she looked. A woman covered in grease and wearing baggy overalls, in his prior experience, wasn't supposed to be alluring and sensual. Maybe that's why it had taken him so long to really see her, and maybe that was why he'd come to rely on her more than he should have. Kaylee had just slipped in, getting close without him realizing it. It surprised him, really; he hadn't even considered the possibility when he'd first met her.

He started when he realized that River was standing in the hatch, looking into the infirmary like she'd lost her way. She repeated her earlier comment, her voice soft and forlorn.

"Lonely."

Simon smiled sadly. Yes, he was. "I know, mèi mei."

River's face turned hard and her voice rose. "Then why are you trying to stop me!"

Simon took a deep breath. If there ever was a time he wished she was reading his thoughts, it was now. He really didn't want a battle. But the issue she raised was something that needed to be dealt with, and they might as well get to it.

"River, you don't realize what you're doing."

"I'm not stupid!"

Simon needed only one word to challenge that assertion. "Jayne?"

"Nearly eighteen," she replied. "I can choose. I choose him."

Simon let his face express his disgust. "But… Jayne?"

"He's a very… good and…good man." She cast about for something better to say, but gave up with a frustrated harrumph. "No other choice!"

"You should wait until you find someone… halfway decent," Simon argued, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable. "Sex is not about having it as soon and as much as possible."

She folded her arms and tipped her head. "Once would be nice."

"It would – if it's with the right person. It's not about just the physical act. It's about sharing something very… personal. And if that's not possible, you need to wait."

Her eyes snapped at him. "That's not fair! You didn't have to wait! Did it when you were seventeen!"

"How did you – "

River crossed her arms. "Cynthia Jenson. Mom and dad's room. After school."

Simon felt his face heat up. "You were watching?"

"Could hear. From the closet. You didn't last long."

"You are…" Simon stammered. "River! You had no business –"

"Neither do you!" She pointed her thumb at herself. "Eighteen in four days! Independent. On my own. You can't tell me what to do!"

Simon threw his hands out to his sides. "Great. So you're an independent eighteen year old fugitive. I'm sure you have lofty plans."

River's lips pinched together, then she whirled around and disappeared.

o-o-o

Simon went to his room, finally admitting that he was unable to process any kind of technical information. He changed into his cotton pants, even though he knew he wouldn't be falling asleep for a while. There was too much on his mind, and he felt he couldn't solve all these problems, not on his own.

He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall. He was far beyond his abilities, with Kaylee, with Mal, and most certainly with River. She should have her parents to guide her through this, or at least someone who knew the right things to say.

What did he know about forming relationships? What did he know about having a healthy, fulfilling sex life? The experiences Simon had to share fell strongly in the what-not-to-do category.

o-o-o

Eleven months ago

_A black-haired woman leads him through a doorway in the back of the parlor and up a flight of wooden stairs. Simon follows, weaving slightly from the drinks he'd choked down at the saloon next door, several shots of something nasty that still burns in his stomach. But it's given him the courage to go through with this. _

_No – not courage. Nerve. Moxie. Brass. Balls. Yes, balls. He'll be living on the Rim from now on, hiding amongst the criminal fringe. Time to toughen up and stop worrying about being well behaved. Rules and manners and proper words won't mean a thing in his new life. _

_The final step has been taken. Just over a day ago, he walked into a restricted Alliance institution and stole his sister. For a few precious minutes he saw River, talked to her, but only until they got aboard a vessel crewed by men and women he hardly knew. They took her from him, kept her aboard while they left him at a transportation hub a quarter of the world away. Within an hour, Simon found himself on an interplanetary transport on his way to Persephone, his sister lost to him again. Hopefully, for only a few days this time._

_He'd known that as soon as he took her out of that place the life he'd once had would be over. Now it's done, and he can never go back. Since he arrived at Eavesdowne Docks, he's had nothing to do but dwell on this new reality and wait for a package which might never come. A package that will, if they didn't lie to him, contain his sister. Boxed up like frozen cargo._

_What had seemed the easiest part of the rescue is the one that he can't take. The waiting is unbearable, the not knowing if he's thrown his life away for nothing. He gave most of his remaining money to the people piloting that ship; he has no other option now. And even if they come through, there's no guarantee as to River's condition. He's gone over those few minutes he spent with her, trying to recall every detail. Gods – what they had they been doing to her in that place?_

_Coming to this house was the only thing he could think of to get him through. He had to get drunk before he could enter and make a choice; the woman he selected, the one now leading him to a private upstairs room, has silky black hair hanging in a straight sheet to her shoulders, and a fine delicate body. Simon chose her for that, for her appearance and the way she stayed in the background, sitting across the room watching him patiently instead of parading herself in front of him like the others. She seems classy._

_The room she leads him to is scant – a narrow bed and a rough wooden table and lamp are the sole furnishings, but the bedding looks clean, and there are no unpleasant smells. It isn't as bad as he expected it to be._

"_You got a name?" she asks as soon as she closes the door behind him. Her voice doesn't match her appearance; it's bold and her border accent is rough._

_Simon shifts uncomfortably and doesn't answer._

"_Don't have to be your real name, Johnny," she says. "It's just good to have somethin' to call ya by."_

"_Oh – uh… John will do."_

_She smiles at him like he's prey that she's about to consume. "John, you are. So, how d'ya want it?" _

_Simon stammers and can't reply – he isn't expecting her to be so direct. She seems to find his awkwardness cute, if a little pathetic, and steps closer. She sets her hands on his shoulders and presses her body against his. Through a haze of drunkenness and mortification, Simon feels a rush of arousal._

"_D'ya like to kiss?" she asks, her face tilted up toward his. He still can't speak, but nods. She puts a hand behind his neck and pulls him down to meet her._

She isn't shy. Of course she isn't shy, you idiot, he thinks to himself as her tongue pushes into his mouth. She's a whore.

_No matter who or what she is, her arms around his body feel so good that he wants to melt into her, and he pulls her closer and opens his mouth to the kiss. She immediately traps his tongue, wrapping her lips around it and sucking as if it's a preview of something else she'll be doing soon._

_It should be incredibly erotic. It should add to the thrill that's been warming his groin ever since he decided to do this, but a part of him can't get past the ruse; her actions feel hurried and false. Maybe she wants this over quickly so she can get to her next customer. Or maybe she doesn't like it, or it bores her. How many times has she had a new man come in, fumbling the way Simon is, but so burning with need that he can't stop himself? _

_His thoughts are interrupted by her hand clutching the front of his pants, and he gasps. A sham it might be, but he needs this. He's been on his own for so long, ever since he gave up his place at the hospital and the life that went with it. He's human; his body has needs. He has every right to do this. It isn't even illegal – as if breaking laws will ever be a problem to Simon Tam again. He's a fugitive now. It's best that he get used to it._

_He pushes the whore onto the bed and crawls on top of her, then feels her hands on his belt. Yes – she's in a hurry, and he is too. He wants to do it quickly, get what he needs so he can leave this horrible place. He lifts his body to give her access, and her hand slides inside his pants._

_Simon feels a harsh jolt when she makes a disappointed clucking sound. He looks down at her hand – it isn't possible. He's never had a problem…_

"_I… I've been drinking," he says lamely as his face floods with heat. He's unable to look at her._

"_Don't you worry," she says. "I'll fix it."_

_He doesn't resist as she pushes him onto his back and pulls his pants down over his hips. She fulfills the promise she made earlier when she worked on his tongue, and Simon stares blindly at the ceiling, his arms lying limp beside him. He tries to lose himself in fantasies of other women in other places, soft sheets in decadent bedrooms, heat and passion and heady release. But the eager mouth on his cock doesn't fit the images in his mind, and the harder the whore tries, the more his body becomes numb to her efforts. _

_He focuses his eyes on the shabby ceiling, at the peeling paint and cobwebs. Suddenly, he's overcome with a sense of disbelief, an abrupt clarity that separates him further from his body and what's being done to it. How has he ended up here? It's as if the successful young man he was a few years ago has walked into the room to see this older version of himself engaged in this farce._

_Simon raises his head to look at the woman – not just a whore, but a woman, a person – and with a disconnect that borders on panic, he realizes that this can't happen. Never, never, can he use someone like this. He puts his hands on her head and pushes her off of him, whimpering when her teeth scrape against his sensitive skin._

"_Hey!" she protests._

"_Sorry. I'm sorry," he mumbles. He rolls off the bed and pulls his pants up over his hips._

"_No need to give up, Johnny," she says as she leans on her elbow on the bed, watching him with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Just tell me what ya want."_

_He turns away, and his fingers fumble as he tries to fasten his fly. "It isn't right," he says, more to himself than to her. "I can't do this."_

"_There ain't no refunds," she says, her tone less light now. "Ain't my fault if you can't –"_

"_Keep it," he says before she can finish. "Keep the money." _

_She laughs. "It's your coin, honey." _

_Her words and her mocking tone follow him, ridicule him as does every face that he sees on his hurried way out of the whorehouse. Is it his imagination, or are they all laughing at him? Yelling after him, their voices resonating with the self-contempt that fills his chest and sours the booze in his stomach…_

Rich boy,_ he imagines them saying in disgust. _Thought you were better than us, but now you lost all your money, and you're not so high and mighty, are you? Now you're nothing, worse than nothing, because you can't make it out here. You have no life with us. You're weak. You're soft.

Soft! Ha! Run, poor soft boy, run…

_He just makes it to the alley outside before he falls to his knees and vomits._

o-o-o

Simon sat on his bed, a pillow clutched against his stomach. He hadn't pulled out that particular memory in a long time, and he wished he hadn't now. It made him want to disappear into himself. The shame stung almost as much as it had that night.

It was horrifying to think that River might have "overheard." She was in her room, just across the hall. Probably sleeping – but maybe she was sitting wide awake, the knowledge of what he'd done, of how her big brother had tried to use a woman for his own pleasure and relief, sinking into her mind.

But wasn't that part of growing up? Learning that adults weren't all they seemed? It was bound to happen sooner or later; River would understand that he was human and flawed, and she would want even more to be on her own. It was inevitable. He couldn't be her hero forever.

It might be worth the shame, if he could be sure that his memory would help River to make better decisions. He didn't want her accepting an undeserving lover just so she'd have a body, giving herself away solely to meet her physical needs. She was worth so much more than that.

_Please wait, River,_ he begged, hoping she'd hear. _Don't be so hurried. It's not worth it. _

He clutched the pillow still as he rolled onto his side, closing his eyes and waiting in vain for sleep to take him.

o-o-o

Translations   
sā dàn nú: satan-spawn  
nán dù: trouble; problem  
dŏng ma: understand?


	4. Chapter 4 of 14: Jayne

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

Thanks to you folks who've favorited me and/or my fics.  
It's nice to know you're out there, having a read!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Jayne**

_Cold brass bars press into the heated skin of Mal's back as he looks into the eyes of the woman astride him. Her face says she won't ever forget this, that it's something special, and he savors it himself. He don't take a woman to bed for nothing; this particular lady has something that's drawn him to her, and he spoke the truth that it's more than her rice wine. _

_(But, even now, he knows that this isn't what he wants. It doesn't shut out the ache of another he can't ever have.)_

_Nandi's beside him the next morning, lying still but her eyes open and watching him. She smiles to see him awake, and the sun on her face makes her look young, fresh and glowing like she's just been bedded proper for the first time. He wonders if the light does the same for him. Can anything, anyone in this verse bring him back his youth? Remove the weight that the years have piled on him?_

_That's a stupid question to be posing; he knows the answer too well already. His heart's locked up so tight that he ain't even sure it's there anymore. Useless gorramn lump of stone is about all he's got left. _

_(And if that's not the truth, if another woman has worked her way in, taking up what little bit of space there is, that's not something he thinks on.)_

_Nandi's smile turns soft with understanding, like maybe she knows what he's thinking better than he does. It doesn't bother him, in fact he's glad if she does know, because he won't want to have to say it out loud. He's got nothing for her but the night just passed. Well – the night and the gunplay to come. He sits up; if the defense of her home and her livelihood is all he has to offer, he'd best get to it. _

_He's only half dressed when he leaves her room. He closes the door behind him and looks up – and freezes in confusion. _

_Something should have been out here in the hall. Someone. He looks behind him, then forward again, taking in the rough wooden floors and walls covered in newspaper. Empty. There's nothing here, no one passing by, not even any creaking of distant footsteps._

"_Ain't that odd?" he whispers to himself, and wonders where this idea, this expectation, is coming from. For a while he stands motionless, his forgotten shirt hanging from his hands. He's got this feeling, and it's near overpowering him. Something like déjà vu, but more immediate, and there's something real and true behind it. If he could just dig it out of himself…_

_This much he gets: he's been here before, pushing his arms into his sleeves while he talked to someone. Awkward words, words he can't recall but just trying to brings him a vivid pang of regret and guilt, followed by a withering sense of dismissal, like he's been found wanting._

_(Not good enough, never will be...) _

_He tries to shake it off and keep moving, 'cause this ain't a place he needs to see (again?). Whatever was supposed to happen, whether it did or not, it's left him feeling abandoned – not a safe way for him to be. He has to put this behind him and go on, no matter which direction he's facing. _

o-o-o

Zoë gave Jayne a glare of warning before she went out the ship's airlock, following Mal down the ramp and into the foot traffic of Eavesdown Docks.

_C__hōng yù_, Jayne thought as he followed. _Like she ain't warned me already_.

He knew what was going on – Mal was crazy. Well, crazier than usual. Weren't nothing complicated about that. Jayne got it, and he had no need to make things messier by playing with the man. Long as the jobs kept coming and kept paying, he was just fine, and he'd stick to doing his part and keep his mouth shut.

Most like.

As he wound through the crowd, he found himself checking the other ships parked at the docks, wondering where they were going and how many crew they had. Trying to see who was in charge, and guess how much they paid their gunhands and how big the bunks were. Wasn't like he was aiming to move on, but a little fact gathering wasn't a bad thing. A man had to keep his options open.

He slowed down a little as he walked past an old freighter. There was a small crowd inside the bay, yelling a gorramn storm at each other. Not fun yelling, not blowing-off-steam yelling, but the kind of pissed off that was gonna come to blows and end with someone on their ass and out a job. Jayne'd seen it happen plenty of times, and if he'd never been the one left in the dirt it was because there weren't many could get the better of him. Also, he was good at what he did. He knew it, and so did the folks who hired him.

Jayne left the fight to finish itself and hurried to catch up to Mal and Zoë. He couldn't deny, _Serenity_ was the best job he'd had since… well… ever. His own bunk, run of the ship and the pantry, no one trying to take his stuff. It'd gone so far that he didn't even lock his bunk when he wasn't there. Not that he trusted the other folks on the ship, not at all. He didn't even like em. Not a one.

Except maybe Kaylee – but who wouldn't take to a cheery bit of sunshine like her? And the Shepherd wasn't bad to have around; he was handy with the weights and loose with the talk for a man of God. Zoë, now, she was a sight to see, a sight he did wish he could see a bit more of. He liked a woman who could handle herself, and if she talked tough it wasn't anything he couldn't take.

But Wash's smart mouth, Simon's tight pìgu, and River's… well, River's _everything_… were all stuff he could do without. He could walk away from those three and not look back a'once.

Course, Wash was a damned good pilot, and that added a bit of security to Jayne's life. It was a handy thing to get back to the ship after a job and know the worrying was over because Wash was at the helm.

Come to think of it, the doc was of some use too. He'd stitched Jayne up from time to time, and the way he'd let that whole mess on Ariel go was decent of him.

Could be, when it came down to it, Jayne wasn't too upset over Wash or Simon. River, though, now that girl was a big handful of trouble. A crazy teenaged girl who played with knives and guns – and not the fun kind of playing, not just a spit shine and put it away. Damned girl attacked her own crew. Jayne raised a hand to his chest, feeling for a scar that'd faded to near nothing by now. But just because the doc was good with a needle didn't mean Jayne'd forget what she did.

And it wasn't just how she went nuts and talked gibberish all the time. All kinds of baddies – from the Alliance on down to hunters like Jubal Early – were out looking for her. It was only a matter of time.

Jayne spat in the dust and swore under his breath. Damn right – he'd be an idiot not to have an eye out for other work. This crew was doomed to go down, no other way about it. That girl was nothing but trouble, more trouble than Mal could handle even if he'd had his marbles in one place.

But, for the moment, Jayne was stuck. He'd best do his part; pull off the jobs, take his cut, and pile up coin while he could.

He caught up with Zoë and Mal just outside Badger's den, when Mal turned back for some last-minute mouth-flapping.

"Stay sharp," Mal said, making a point of directing this toward Jayne. "And by that I mean _quiet_. We gotta walk soft. Badger'll only give us this job if we're clean. The cop that came after Tracy most like won't say a thing, but we can't let it slip that we we've had a run-in with law types. Need more than a few days to be sure we're free of it."

Jayne frowned. _That mess with Tracy just a few days back, no ta whole three months?_

"What the hell you talkin' about?" he asked

Zoë spoke up quick. "We got it, sir," she said to Mal, but she held Jayne's eye. "Jayne's gonna keep his mouth shut. We won't be havin' no problems from him."

Jayne pulled himself together, annoyed that he'd needed Zoë giving him the evil eye to remind him to play along. "That's right," he said, trying to sound like a proper crew member, backing up his captain. "Not a word. You just… you just do the deal, Cap'n. We got your back."

Mal gave him a doubtful look, then muttered to Zoë as he turned to enter the building, "Have the doc check on Jayne. I think he's out of his head."

Jayne opened his mouth to argue that, but Zoë stopped him with a glare.

They followed Mal down the hall, Jayne last. He all but snarled at the gunman standing outside Badger's office, even though the man hadn't done anything – yet – to make Jayne feel so ornery. The man didn't care, he went in to check with Badger. The three of them had to wait outside, and Jayne was stuck in his thoughts for a few more minutes, which was a place he'd generally prefer to avoid.

The truth was this: he wanted out. Even if the food and the pay was crap elsewhere, didn't matter. A man had to have his standards, and there was more to life than food. He needed peace of mind.

"Jayne," Mal said in a sharp whisper, "you got some kind of infestation in your privates?"

Jayne gave the captain a confused look.

"Stop fidgeting," Mal said."You're bugging me."

Jayne snorted. "Hey – you got a helluva lot more to worry about than –"

"Jayne!" Zoë hissed.

Jayne swallowed down the words he had burning in his throat, and held his quiet until they were waved into the office. Mal said his usual less-than-fond hellos to Badger, but Jayne hardly paid attention. He could only think about how he wanted to get out of this mess. Time to move on, no doubt about that.

It was that stupid girl. Had to be, what else would bug him so bad? And the situation with her wasn't gonna change. Mal'd made it clear that she wasn't going anyplace – it was like she was gorramn crew. Mal was an idiot to have a soft spot toward her. Hell, Jayne had never given a damn for useless little girls, even ones who weren't nuts. A waste of time and oxygen was all they were.

o-o-o

Thirteen years ago

_Jayne's crew has been busy, making a bunch of runs out near Ida Moon. They haven't been near any kind of drinking or whoring place in near a month, so Jayne's glad as can be when they finally dock with a station orbiting Greenleaf for some R and R._

_He has money from the long, hard job stuffed in his pocket. He goes out right away, looking for anything that isn't dirt or rock or leather faced old gunhands who smell like rot. He has himself a good ole time, best way he knows how. There's plenty of drink, and food – a slab of meat, cooked tough and dry but guaranteed to come from an actual cow, and that's something more worth enjoying. _

_He also has a woman and pays her enough to work out the kinks of a whole month of hard labor and crime. That takes him late into the night._

_He gets up the next morning, his head aching and the wad of money in his pocket shrunk down to barely a thing, but he's paid in advance for a morning tumble and he leaves the whore's place with the tight spots on his body all worked out. He has enough coin left for some high-priced black coffee, and he chugs it as he walks the station, meandering a bit cause he's forgotten exactly where his ship is docked. _

_He happens by the post and decides to check in – he gets notes from his Ma from time to time, and, as much as he has no need to go back home, it brings him cheer to hear the news. _

_It turns out that there's a letter for him, and it's been waiting for more than a month._

Dear Jayne,

I am sorry to be passing this news to you by post. But I do not know when  
you'll be back by this way. You know that your sister Annie was having a  
cough, because I wrote it in my last letter. Well, the cough got worse, and  
yesterday it took her from us.

I know you and Annie were not close, being so different in age. But I know  
that Annie loved you in her heart to the end. We used the money you sent to  
give her comforts in her last days. She was grateful for that. I am sure that she  
is in Heaven now. She will be watching over you wherever your travels take  
you.

I am very sorry to tell you this way. I am not sure if you will be visiting home.  
But I think you should know.

Love,  
Your Mother

_Jayne wads up the note and stuffs in his pocket. _

o-o-o

Mal turned his back on Badger, and Jayne pulled his attention into the room just in time to catch the captain's tense nod toward the door. The deal must not be going good, then.

"This job'll get you more money than you and yours seen in a good long time," Badger called after Mal, speaking fast. "Think again 'fore you walk out on this!"

Jayne gave himself a shake and opened his eyes and ears wide, trying to catch up on whatever he'd missed. Mal was clearly fed up, heading out of the room with Zoë behind him. Jayne put on a scowl that seemed to fit the situation and made to follow, but Badger's next words had Mal pulling up short.

"Might get you four 'undred platinum, you play it right."

Mal turned back, looking ready to shoot rather than deal, but he talked smooth. "You got any proof of that?" He folded his arms and glowered. Jayne glanced at Zoë, who was matching the captain, then he took up a similar pose himself. He might have missed some harsh words, but he could cover for it easy enough.

Badger nodded at one of his men, who picked up a gray metallic box sitting in the corner of the room and set it on Badger's desk. The thing was about a half meter on a side, and had flashing lights on a small panel on top.

"Refrigeration," Badger explained as he tapped a few buttons on the panel. "Gotta keep it nice and fresh."

"Fresh?" Mal asked with a raised eyebrow and a look of doubt.

Badger released a latch and pushed the lid off the box. A wispy white cloud rose out of it, just like the container that River had come out of that first time. (Jayne held back a few bitter thoughts about that day.) But this box was too small to hold a body, even one as tiny as hers.

Badger reached in and pulled out a clear bag. In it was a large mess of grey-pink meat, which he held up like he thought the light would sparkle on it.

Jayne squinted at it. "Pig ears?" he asked. "Fatty pig ears?"

Badger glanced at Jayne with a look of annoyance, then he turned to Mal. "If your dà năo sĭ wáng hired muscle is gonna be eatin' this for a snack, forget this job right here and now. "

"Hey!" Jayne snapped. "I ain't stupid."

"He's not _that _stupid," Mal said without turning to see the glare that comment earned. "What exactly is that?"

"Pure gold. Better than. But it needs explainin'."

"And here we are with another catch," Zoë said.

Badger shrugged. "Not a catch. It's an advantage you happen to have, and it's why I've been saving this lucrative bit a' work. See – the buyer is particular about the source."

"It's always something with you, Badger," Mal said. "Now why is that?"

Badger dropped the bag into the cooler and shut the lid over it. "Look," he said, "it's a legal job, more or less, and it's got pay that the likes a' you won't find nowhere else."

Mal continued glaring for long moment before he said, "Curiosity's a dangerous thing, but I just got to know why you think that hunk of flesh is worth four hundred."

Badger's face switched from worried to cocky in a flash. "You ever 'eard of an elephant seal?" he asked.

o-o-o

The box was surprisingly heavy, considering how small it was. Must be all the refrigeration tech, Jayne figured as he shifted the thing higher on his hip.

He was feeling downright pleased with himself. Mal might have passed it right by – very nearly had – but this job lay right in Jayne's alley, and he'd managed to talk the captain into it. Well – he'd provided the info that had pushed Mal over the edge. Jayne knew exactly what this stuff was worth. Not that he'd ever bought it for himself. Hell, no – he didn't need it. But he'd been to a few of the upscale whorehouses where it was for sale. Plenty of men out there needed help, and they'd pay dear for it.

_Selesta_, it was called. Little bits of tender raw meat to be chewed on in the whorehouse waiting parlor – or it could be dried and cooked up in a fancy tea, if you were the pinky lifting kind of guy. And what exactly was it? Jayne knew – he'd heard the story from a high class lady he'd gone to a few times during in his early days in the Black, when he got a payoff high enough to afford her.

Selesta was the most potent part of one of the most potent male animals out there. The elephant seal: a good seven meters in length, weighing in at a solid ton, and a bad-ass defender and full time lover of his own private herd of lady seals. What overpaid upper class lily wouldn't pay for a piece of something like that?

Yeah, this cargo was worth every bit of what Badger'd said, 'specially if they managed to palm it off to a Companion house. Those women would pay tops for it, 'cause they could sell for even more.

Once back in the cargo bay, Mal snatched the box out of Jayne's hands without even a thank you, and carried it away like he meant to lock it up. As if anyone on this crew was desperate enough to want to partake in that.

Well, Jayne thought, maybe Simon….

"Nice work," a gruff voice said behind him.

"What?" Jayne asked, turning to see a very unhappy Zoë glaring at him like he was her new worst enemy. That kind of look made him uneasy, when it was coming from Zoë.

"Mayhap you like the idea of gettin' into the sex trade," Zoë said, "but there's more goin' on here than business."

"Hell, Zoë," Jayne said defensively. "It's good money. If I hadn't a' spoke up, captain would'a walked away from it."

"And we wouldn't be going to a _Companion_ House. Yesu, Jayne, are you really that dumb? For all we know, Inara could be workin' at that house that Badger's steerin' us toward!"

Jayne sputtered, feeling blood heat his cheeks as he realized her meaning. He tried to cover up the fact that this little complication had never even occurred to him.

"Now, how d'you know it wouldn't be good for him? Maybe it's exactly what he needs – wrangle a little kŏu jiāo out of Inara and then drop her like a stone. That'd fix him up – you ever think of that, huh?" Jayne folded his arms and nodded to himself; it wasn't a bad idea. Best way to cure a hangup on a lady, and one he'd seen work plenty of times. But Zoë glared at him like he'd suggested sacrificing baby bunnies to Buddha.

"Stay out of my face," she said, her eyes narrow in that scary way she had. "And if I see you so much as _think_ of talking to the captain, about anything, I will have Simon cut out what parts of your brain control what comes out your mouth. If there are any."

Jayne huffed as she walked away from him. "That ain't fair! I was just tryin' to help!"

Zoë didn't reply, but another soft voice did:

"I understand."

"Huh?" Jayne looked straight up to see the outline of a small figure lying on the catwalk above the cargo bay doors.

"Mean well," River said softly. "She can't see, but I do."

"Could you ever not _sneak_?" Jayne snapped at her.

River sighed. "Could you ever not be grumpy?" she replied.

Jayne shook his head and left her be – he wasn't up to arguing with a mental case. He looked around for some other source of entertainment, something to keep him from thinking. Too much of that wasn't ever healthy.

The hovercraft was hanging in the back corner of the bay, Kaylee's feet sticking out from under its side. The mule was looking better; that chatty old lady Xiaojun had given Kaylee some steel plating that she'd molded into panels to cover the machine's innards. It was all a dull gray, but Jayne imagined that Kaylee'd be prettyin' up it before too long.

He didn't bug her straight off – Kaylee'd been a bit tetchy about her alone time ever since Niflheim, since she'd shot that guy. But he wouldn't be in her space if he got out the weight bench, right? She could talk to him if she wanted, or not.

Turned out that it didn't take long. He took off his gun and coat and was just started setting up the weights when she spoke up.

"How'd it go?"

He turned and could see her face peeking out from the shadows under the mule.

"Usual," he told her. "Cept as how Zoë's all over everything gettin' said. Like Mal's some gorramn toddler."

"She's just tryin' to take care a' him. That's what she does."

"Yeah, well – it gets on my nerves," Jayne snapped, and that was the truth. It bugged him, bugged him enough that he found himself thinking again about all those ships parked out in the docks. Other crews might have their problems, but at least things would make a bit of sense.

_Law of the jungle_ was how it was supposed to be in the Black. Survival of the fittest. You're strong, you got a big gun, you win. The weak go down. Simple.

By those rules, Mal was all done.

"Jayne?" Kaylee said, still in that quiet voice that wasn't right for her. "I been thinkin' about the captain…"

Jayne wrinkled up his brow, not wanting to let on that he was doing the same. "Yeah?"

"Well, it's just… maybe forgettin' stuff ain't such a bad thing. You know?" She looked away from him, staring up at whatever bit of the mule she was working on, and grimaced a bit as she tried to loosen a part. "Captain's had bad stuff goin' on lately. Maybe it's best for him if he don't have to think on it no more."

That confused Jayne. How could it be good, when it made the man so gorramn helpless?

"I mean," Kaylee continued, "seems everybody's got some scaries that keep 'em awake at night. Stuff that don't sit back like it should. If the bad could be erased, made to go away forever, seems that'd be a blessin'." She wasn't working anymore, just lying with her arms up, holding onto the tangled engine pipes but not moving. Her eyes were all soft like she was looking at something further off, something that made her sad.

For some odd reason, Jayne found himself thinking again of that time years ago, when he'd put his mother's wadded up letter in his pocket. He remembered how empty that pocket had been. All that money, more than what he'd sent them to care for his little sister, spent in one night.

It hadn't bothered him at the time. He'd barely known Annie – and it wasn't like he could have done anything about how she died when he was half the verse away. Wasn't his problem.

"What're you thinkin' about?" Kaylee asked.

Jayne started, wondering how long he'd been sitting there.

"Nothin' important."

Kaylee had crawled out from the mule and was sitting on the deck. She was staring down at the wrench in her hands like she was shy, and that wasn't right. Kaylee wasn't ever one to be shy.

"Jayne?" she asked again, her voice quiet.

"What?"

"You 'member the first time you killed somebody?"

Jayne looked at her sharp, but she still had her head down. "Yeah, course I do."

"What was it like?"

"What d'ya mean? I shot a guy. It was dark, and those gorramn fools didn't have no cover. Nothin' fancy 'bout it."

"But how… " She didn't finish her question, just stood up and turned away. "I really should be workin' on _Serenity_," she said. "We got a trip ahead a'us. I should make sure she's runnin' smooth."

Jayne watched her leave, still feeling bugged in a way he couldn't quite figure for sure. One good way to deal with that – he loaded up the bar.

o-o-o

Sixteen years ago

_It's been three years since Jayne left home to work on a freighter. He'd had a solid build even then, and he's only gotten stronger – it's been three years of working hard for his pay, carrying cargo all day. He's also learned to drink cheap booze and visit whores when he has the chance. It ain't a bad time. His ship don't visit the best places in the verse; they mostly work border worlds far from his home. But it's all like some kind of adventure, and that's plenty for him. _

_Even better, Jayne gets paid, more than his dad ever got out a' working the factories. Jayne sends a little home, but keeps plenty for himself too. It's his chance to finally live good, to see something of the verse and have life his own way._

_Things had got a little tight his second year out – some trouble with government types wanting to charge higher tariffs. The leader of his crew still thinks it's some plan to keep the business with the big companies, to screw over independent workers like themselves. Jayne doesn't care much about that, except that suddenly he find himself with less coin to jingle._

_As the months go by, the food gets worse and the crew shrinks. Jayne keeps his spot, seeing as how he's young and big and works hard. But the upstanding jobs are scarce, and nowadays they stay far out on the Rim, not even getting in to halfway decent places like Persephone. They move cargo around between dusty little worlds; it ain't the kind of cargo they want anyone but the buyer and seller to know about. No one tells Jayne that, but it isn't tough to figure – deliveries are made in the dead of night, on deserted moons with no one around._

_Jayne knows how to work guns, but he never had one until the jobs get shady. Once that happens, the crew sets him up with a pistol. Just in case, they say. _

_It doesn't take take long before he makes use of it. They're picking up cargo on some dark corner of a moon he hasn't caught the name of when a bunch of crazy hundan come running out of nowhere, trying to steal the stuff. _

_Survival is survival, and he needs his pay, so Jayne doesn't think twice. He draws his gun and defends the cargo. There aren't many raiders and they aren't tough to shut down, probably some hard-up locals that have gone and got themselves drunk enough to try something stupid. _

_Jayne only shoots one before it's all over. Never even sees the face – the crew leaves the bodies where they fall so they can load up and turn tail quick as they can. _

o-o-o

Never thought a thing about it, not till Kaylee asked. Was he supposed to be bothered? He'd had to protect what was his. That was the way of things.

He sat at the weight bench, resting after the single warm-up set he'd got done so far. He was so caught up with his thoughts that he didn't even hear the moonbrain coming down the stairs until she spoke to him.

"Done?" she asked.

Jayne jumped and snapped at her. "How the hell d'you do that?"

River's jaw set. "Sneaky," she said pointedly. "Are you done?"

"Nah. Just gettin' started."

She tilted her head to the side in that way she had, like she was listening to something no one else could hear. It gave Jayne the willies when she did that.

Suddenly, she straightened. "Need a spot?"

He grinned and tipped his head toward the heavily laden bar. "You think you can lift that?"

Crazy girl seemed to take that as a challenge. She moved to the head of the bench, set her feet solidly on the deck, and gripped the bar. She didn't move a bit, but her face started turning red, then her lips pressed together and her skinny arms began to shake.

Eventually, she let go of the bar with a fast exhale. "Strength isn't everything," she said.

Jayne laughed. "It is when you're liftin' heavy stuff." He reached out and squeezed her arm. "It'd help if your bicep was bigger than the bar."

She didn't pull away like he half expected her to, just stood still until he let go of her arm.

"Wasn't talking about lifting weights," she said.

"Then what the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?"

And then River did something confusing. More confusing than usual, that is. She set her index finger on the bar near one support, then ran it lightly across the dark gray metal.

"Soft touch…" she said. "Better than strength." She kept her head tilted down, but lifted her eyes to look at him.

That baffled Jayne. He chuckled uncomfortably. "What – you gonna pet the bar till it moves on its own?"

She smiled. "Hmm – something like that."

She took her hand off the bar and reached out to him, setting her finger on his shoulder. Jayne cranked his head to look at where she was touching him, just to make sure she wasn't hiding something sharp in her palm.

Nope.

He looked back at her face, then at her hand again as she began tracing a line up his shoulder to his neck. There was something about this that was wrong. Very, very wrong. He couldn't figure it, until she leaned over the bar, looking like she had some idea of following the trail of her finger with her mouth.

"Wa shǐ!" he said, jumping to his feet. "You puttin' a move on me?"

River slid around the bench toward him. "Would it be so bad?" she asked.

Jayne backed away. "You crazy gorramn freak. What the hell you thinkin'?"

"It's time, and I choose you."

"Time? Time for – ?" He decided that he really didn't want her explaining that, and skipped on to the second thing she'd said. "But… why you comin' after _me_?"

"Because… " She paused and looked at toward the ceiling, like she was trying to dig out the right words. "You're… special. I have…" She flopped a hand around in front of her, like it would help. "… deep… feelings… for you. And I think it's time we – "

"You feedin' me a line?" he asked. "I got crazy girl feedin' me a gorramn line?"

River dropped her hand and looked at him. "It works for you, doesn't it?"

"It works _for_ me, not _on_ me!"

River looked hurt, and she did that tilty head thing again. "But… aren't you tired of your hand?"

"Hey – my own hand don't ever try and kill me. Anyhow – I got plenty a' whores I can go to."

She smiled brightly. "Save money. Won't need whores when you have me." She moved toward him again, reaching up like she meant to grab him. Jayne backed away, holding out his hands to block her.

"Now you just… just stop right there. I dunno where you got this idea, but you need to lose it, right now."

"Why? I know you've had thoughts about me."

"Yesu, girl, I have thoughts about anything with two legs and titties. Don't mean I'm stupid. If Mal don't kill me, sure as hell your brother'd be dropping meds in my tea first chance he got."

"You're afraid of Simon?"

"Hell no, I ain't – "

"Won't tell him."

Gorramn if she wasn't worming her way around his upheld arm and getting all close to him again. It wasn't like she was ugly, but she had no flesh on her. Jayne liked to have an armful of something to hold onto, liked a woman with experience who wasn't like to break in half when things got rough.

River did have a way of moving, though, and she was like to be bendy…

He saw a smile stretch the girl's lips, and he shook the idea out of his head. Then he shook it again when the thing he was picturing wouldn't go away. A skinny young thing like River wasn't for taking to bed. Especially with her history with guns and knives, he wasn't gonna be trusting his privates with her. 'Sides, there was something about her that creeped him out. Something more than the cracks in her brainpan. Something that made it so _wrong_…

o-o-o

Nineteen years ago

_Jayne sits on a wooden bench, leaning back against the stone wall it's built into. His mother might see the smoke rising over the top of the wall, but she won't know that it's him blowing it out. _

_His buddy Cody sits next to him, wasting most of his cig 'cause he can't stop talking long enough to take a decent inhale. Cody's seventeen, a year older than Jayne, but it never does seem that way. Maybe it's 'cause Jayne's been able to out-wrastle Cody for going on ten years now. Jayne's always been able to out-wrastle most everyone, and that's something he enjoys knowing. And doing._

_They're waiting for the rest of their bunch to show up so they can go into town and look for some fun. Or trouble – whatever they get to first will do. Jayne's learned some time ago that he's the boss, and he can get away with lots if he sticks with his gang. His mother calls them the Pack, like they're a bunch a' wild dogs or something. Jayne grins at the thought. Hell, yeah, they're a dog pack. And Jayne's Top Dog._

"_Momma's gonna whip you, she sees you smokin'," a high voice says from above his head. Jayne twists around to look up at the thin white face hanging over the wall. Little Annie's six now, and able to do more spying than she used to. It's getting to be a problem._

"_You say one word 'bout this, I'll be doin' the whippin'," Jayne warns. _

"_You goin' to town again?" she asks, ignoring his threat. Ain't anyone else besides his Ma who'll do that, but Annie's not afraid of him. He'd never actually beat on his little sister, and she knows it. She sure as hell asks for it plenty of times, but she's so tiny and frail that she's like to break if he ever touched her rough._

_He drags on his smoke. "Whassit matter to you?"_

"_I'm buildin' a house. For Nettie." Nettie's her favorite ragdoll; goes everywhere she does. The thing's torn-up dirty face appears next to Annie's, staring down at him. "Help me?"_

_Cody laughs. "Yeah, Jayne. Stay home and play with dolls! Maybe you can play dress up, too."_

"_Shut up," Jayne snaps. "I ain't buildin' no damn house for that rag."_

_Annie pouts at him. "Please? Mattie's busy with Ma. I ain't got no one else to play with."_

_Jayne frowns; his little brother Mattie ain't quite old enough to work the factory yet and he has to do chores around home. Jayne brings in pay, so he can go out on his own on his free night. Don't have to fix things when they break, don't have to cook or clean, and don't have to babysit no whiny whelp either._

"'_At's cause you're a snotty-nosed dirty-butt brat," he says, then he throws his smoke down and stomps it out. "Go on back inside – and don't be tellin' Ma I was smokin', or I'll take Nettie to work and put her through a thresher."_

_Her face pinches angrily. "I'll tell Ma you're going to see whores!" she threatens. Jayne scowls and jumps up toward her, reaching for that silly doll. Annie disappears behind the wall with a yelp. _

"_Come on," Jayne tells Cody, and he starts down the street. They'll just move a few houses down the lane, where Annie can't bug them no more._

"_I'm glad I'm the youngest at home," Cody says as he follows Jayne. "Ain't got no little sister whinin' at me all the time. How you even take it?"_

"_Won't be takin' it for long," Jayne says. "I'm getting the hell out a'here."_

"_How's that?"_

_Jayne stands a bit taller as be brags. "My cousin's lookin' out for freighter jobs. First chance I get, I'm gonna travel the verse. Ain't gonna waste away in that gorramn factory the rest of my life. No way. Not me." _

o-o-o

The memory flashed by in the time it took River to slip inside Jayne's arms and pull herself close. She must have been up on the tips of her toes to be getting her mouth nearly up to his, her lips pursed and straining to close that last bit of distance.

"Cut it out!" Jayne said, and he pushed her away. "Cool your… whatever it is that needs coolin'!"

River opened her eyes and stared icy lasers at him. "You'll go to any whore, but I'm not good enough for you?"

"No! No – that ain't how it is. I know you got needs. We all got needs. At your age, I was, well, I was needin'..." And that was the truth. Jayne knew all about the way she was needing. "But that don't mean you can just…"

Jayne paused as an idea came to him

"What?" she asked, pouting fit to compete with little Annie, but with an edge of something angry and dangerous. Jayne gave her a look down and up – nah, she may look like a little girl, but he'd be wrong to mistake her for one. River had surprises; probably more of those than anyone knew.

Somehow, that idea made him think he might actually like her – just a little. She wasn't really so helpless, and that interested him. Didn't mean he was gonna bed her; the thought of that turned his stomach. But not in the way he'd have expected. He didn't feel like throwing her out the airlock or selling her off to some slave trader just to get her out of his face.

Truth was, he felt for her. And who else besides him was willing and able to do anything about her kind of problem?

"Now, you listen up," he said. "Keep yourself cool, and don't be doing this gōu shī no more. You stay off a' me, and I'll help you out."

River's eyes narrowed. "How?" she demanded.

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of it," Jayne nodded to himself. Yeah – it was definitely a good idea he was having.

River gave him a long look, then she smiled at him. "I believe you."

It wasn't her usual creepy smile, but friendly-like – sort of how she smiled at Simon. Jayne was just thinking on that, and on how him made feel a bit taller than he usually was, when she stepped forward and jumped. She grabbed his neck and pulled herself up to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you!" she said, then dropped back onto the deck.

Jayne chuckled, oddly satisfied at her reaction, and he turned to go back to the weight bench. He was met by a fist crashing into his jaw.

"You keep your hands _off_ of her!" Simon yelled, which wasn't a bit fair, so Jayne shook it off quickly and punched the doctor right back. He did a better job of it – Simon ended up on the deck, landing on his butt with a thud.

"Hell with this," Jayne muttered, and he turned and headed up the stairs without bothering to put the weights away. Simon yelled after him.

"If you take advantage of her, I'll – "

"Like I want that nutjob anywhere near my xiăo dìdì!" Jayne yelled down, swiping his hand over the precious thing in question. "I didn't _ask_ her to move on me!"

Simon glared up from where he sat on the deck, rubbing his cheek. "As if I'll ever believe that," he said.

Jayne didn't have to respond. "Said no!" River explained. "I tried, and he said no. Doesn't want me. I'll be a lonely old maid." She hung her head.

"River – you didn't," Simon said.

"Gorramn right she did!" Jayne told him. "You better get a handle on her. Girl's ruttin' insane and out a' control!"

Simon was getting set to bust into River, but all Jayne saw was the girl looking up at him, eyes big and sad. But then her mouth pulled sideways a little and she winked at him. Jayne turned away before he could do something silly like smile back – not that he cared what Simon thought, but he didn't want the girl forming more ideas she shouldn't have. None of this meant he was her friend or nothing.

He went up the stairs two at a time – he had a mission now, and if it looked like a mission of mercy he didn't have so much of a problem with that. This could even be fun, what with going behind the doc's back and all. Jayne'd need to make sure the ship was staying on the ground for a few more minutes…

Yep, he liked this – a good deed to do before he moved on to another job. He had to admit, there was something about doing a favor for River, something that made him feel warm – but not in a tingly, sexed-up way. More like he was taking care of a debt long overdue.

That thought made him pause. He felt good about being nice to River? But he was still sure he needed to leave?

If that girl wasn't the thing that bugged him about being on _Serenity_ – what the hell was?

o-o-o

Translations  
pì gu: butt  
chōng yù: enough  
dà năo sĭ wáng: brain dead  
kŏu jiāo: oral sex  
wa shǐ: holy shit  
gōu shī: crap  
xiăo dìdì: cock (lit. "little younger brother")


	5. Chapter 5 of 14: Book

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Book**

_Mal manages to climb through the shattered window on his own, but once back in Niska's office his legs fail. The hands that catch him are Wash's. _

_Dimly, Mal hears the pilot's voice. _"_I'll help him – you and Jayne are better with the shooting part anyway."_

_Hearing Wash coolly assess an action situation would normally call for some snide remark, but Mal's not exactly in the mood. He's just glad as hell they came for him. _

_The pilot tries to pull Mal's right arm over his shoulder, but Mal musters the energy to resist. "Other side," he mutters thickly._

"_But your ear…" Wash says._

_Mal takes the liberty of drawing a gun from the holster on the pilot's hip. He holds it up, looking Wash in the eye. "Need my shootin' hand," he says, and Wash replies with a nod. The pilot tucks himself under Mal's left arm, taking care not to touch the burning agony on the side of Mal's head._

"_Let's get to movin'," Jayne says, spitting the words out quick. "Shepherd's holdin' the hall, but that ain't gonna last."_

"_You take point," Zoë orders the mercenary, then she nods at Wash to guide Mal out of the office._

"_Where's Niska?" Mal asks, the words coming out low and harsh. He grimaces at the effort of walking, but the pain serves to relight his rage, a pure white-hot need to return some of what's due. This kind of murderous fury doesn't touch Mal's heart often, but he knows exactly what needs to be done with it. He keeps the borrowed gun pointed at the deck as his eyes sweep the space, looking for the old man who's needing a messy end. _

_No one answers Mal's question; they hurry along the corridor, Zoë sending a few shots out behind them to keep the station's defenders at a distance. They soon come across Book and Simon – the Shepherd is calm and cool as can be, but Mal can't hold back a dry laugh at the sight of the fine young doctor wedged up against the bulkhead, gun held tight in hands that shake. This isn't the kind of adrenaline rush the boy's used to._

_They pause so Wash can hand Mal off to Book and join Zoë in the rearguard. Simon lowers his gun, the overwhelmed expression on his face replaced by cool assessment as he looks Mal up and down. _This is some crew I got,_ Mal thinks, his derision of the doctor turning to something like respect, and the realization of what they're doing for him makes his anger collapse. Too late, he finds that it's been the only thing keeping him on his feet, and he needs help from both Simon and Book as the group continues on._

_Everything after that is vague. Mal's half aware of stumbling on the upward slant of a ramp, and he gets a distant picture in his mind of Kaylee standing in his ship's cargo bay, shaking like a kitten caught in the snow. She points down at a handgun lying on the deck next to her, like she needs someone else to pick it up, like she doesn't want to touch a weapon herself. Mal's glad she won't. Kaylee shouldn't be taking up arms, not for any reason the verse can hand out. _

_That thought makes him uncomfortable, though he can't think of why. Kaylee's never held a gun, not in his memory. (He sees a flash of it anyway, of Kaylee firing and a man falling hard, but he can't think of when that could have happened...)_

_After that, the things his eyes see are too disconnected to make any sense, but voices settle into his mind, floating down on him as he lies on the gurney in the infirmary. Simon's saying that it'll be fine, that Inara's bringing something that'll fix his ear up right. And that makes Mal think,_

Inara. Of course – Inara. How could I forget?

_(But he forgets again when a familiar voice wakes him.)_

o-o-o

Shepherd Book tapped his fingers against his leg, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated his options. Perhaps the meek shall inherit the earth, but even the most passive lovers of peace occasionally found themselves out in the turbulent Black, facing challenges such as this. The Holy Father would forgive him if he went for the jugular that his opponent was so carelessly exposing. After all, it's also said that the Lord helps those who help themselves.

He made his move, to Wash's dismay.

"I only needed two cards!" the pilot moaned in despair, throwing yet another losing hand onto the small, round table. "I was so close!"

"So close, and yet…" Book finished his statement by tallying the score, then brandishing the scrap of paper for Wash to see.

"Oh, yeah?" Wash said in response. "Well… that's because this game isn't supposed to be played with two. My strategies – and I have some good ones, let me tell you – need three or four people. At least."

"Of course," Book said with a generous smile as he gathered the cards together. Wash settled back into his chair, looking out from the alcove into the empty dining room.

"More players," Wash said, "that's what I need. Where are they, anyway?" Book didn't need to ask – Wash meant Mal, Zoë, and Jayne. The pilot's worry had been building ever since the trio had left the ship.

Book checked his watch. "They've hardly been gone half an hour."

"Which is a long time when Badger's involved and Mal's insane."

Book was used to Wash's nerves; they were a grating, though understandable, addition to _Serenity_'s crew every time Zoë was out and Wash had nothing to do. The complication of Mal's condition only added to Wash's distress. Book knew that distractions were the best way to deal with the kind of worry that was eating the pilot, so he was doing his best.

"Another game?" he offered. Wash accepted with a shrug.

They only made it halfway through the next hand before Wash started again. "I can't believe they're dealing with Badger, after the last few times..."

"That's the captain's decision to make."

"Actually, I believe it's Zoë's call now."

Book nodded gravely, ready to hear Wash's rant about the ship's changing power dynamic, but apparently Wash was in a mood to take a different approach to the situation.

"So," Wash said, "if Zoë's in charge, does that make me the official consort?"

Book laid down a card, but Wash didn't appear to notice. In fact, he was holding his cards loosely in front of him, and Book could have, with a single glance, assured his victory. But cheating wasn't the way of a man of the cloth.

"You'd think the partner of the acting leader of the ship gets privileges that a pilot doesn't," Wash said thoughtfully.

"Extra dish duty?" Book suggested lightly.

Wash frowned at him. "I'm thinking more along the lines of a say in the decision making process. A voice that actually gets heard."

"That could be… fun," Book said dryly, hoping his tone would make the pilot reconsider. The ship didn't need any more arguments livening things up; they were all under jumpy enough as it was. But he didn't push his opinion. He'd rather keep his involvement simple: smooth things out wherever possible, including keeping Wash busy with a card game so he wouldn't start pulling his hair out.

Book strummed his fingers against the tabletop, hoping to call Wash's attention to the game, but the pilot didn't notice. He folded up his cards and held them in one hand, tapping them against his other palm.

"Fun is beside the point," Wash said, completely missing Book's irony. "There's clearly a need for some… clear thought. We've been running from near disaster to near disaster for months, and it only gets worse as we go. And now – taking Mal, the way he is, to get a job from Badger, is a one way trip to some pretty severe bad." He jabbed a finger against the table to stress his point. "Hear me now and believe me later, no good will come of it. A big, heaping pile of no good."

"In that case, maybe we should finish our business before Armageddon arrives."

Wash frowned in confusion until Book nodded to the cards on the table.

"Oh!" Wash said, and opened out his hand. "Sorry about that," he added as he picked up the card Book had just set down.

"Quite all right."

Wash's eyes were on the game, but not quite focused. After a minute, he added, "And thanks for letting me go on. I can't really say all that to Zoë right now."

"I understand, and I'm happy to be of help."

Wash finally selected a card to play, and slapped it onto the table with relish. "Ha! Take that!"

"Thank you, I believe I will," Book said, picking up the card. Wash watched him suspiciously, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Kaylee slipping into the galley.

"Hey, Kaylee," Wash called. "How about joining the game? I could use some help here."

"Sorry," she replied as she dug through the cupboards. "I got all kinds of stuff to do with the mule and them gadgets the captain got us. No time for playin'."

"All work and no play makes Kaylee a cranky girl," Wash said, making Kaylee turn toward them with a look of worry.

"Cranky? Am I bein' cranky?"

"Not at all," Book replied, putting a stop to Wash's misplaced needling. "Wash here is the moody one."

"Maybe if you'd let me win once in a while I'd be more cheery," Wash countered.

"Now – would it be satisfying to be handed a victory, instead of earning it?" Book asked, and he set his winning hand down with a smile.

"Well that's…" Wash started, but he had no argument to make. Of course, he made one anyway. "Actually, any kind of victory would be just fine. Through pity, or cheating, or random dumb luck…. Hey, wanna play war?"

Kaylee let out a little chortle. "You two have fun."

She found whatever snack she was looking for and went on her way as Book shuffled the cards. He took pity on Wash and dealt out the whole deck for a round of strategy-free war. The pilot did have more than the usual worries on his shoulders, and while that might be true of them all, it was Book's chosen place to help others bear the burdens that life set on them. He was relieved at how the cards split; when Wash took a decisive victory, he bore the pilot's celebration magnanimously.

A second game of war was dealt but never joined, because Mal and Zoë arrived in mid-debate. Mal was carrying a box, something that brought to mind the refrigeration tank that Simon had used to smuggle his sister on board. The container in Mal's hands was much smaller, but had a similar control panel.

"Yeah, it worries me," Zoë was saying as she followed the captain in. "We got no way to prove this stuff is legal, which we can be pretty sure it ain't."

"Not like it's the biggest problem we ever faced," Mal replied, and he turned to her after setting the box on the table. "We won't have to dodge any bullets, just talk smooth to a bunch of high-priced fancy ladies."

Wash abandoned the game and jumped to his feet, going into the dining room to join in the talk, but Book stayed put. He figured the story would come out, and he'd hear it just fine even if he stayed comfortably settled where he was.

"Sir, it's a mite more complicated than that. Companions ain't just fancy ladies. They read people. They got a way of knowing when someone's lyin' to em."

"So, what's in the box?" Wash asked brightly.

"You don't wanna know," Mal answered, then kept on with Zoë. "You an expert on Companions? You maybe got some history I don't know?"

Zoë glanced at Wash and Book uncomfortably before she replied. "It happens that… I spent some time with a Companion once."

Mal's eyes widened in amazement. He stared at Zoë for a second before turning to Wash. "Did you know about this?" he asked. "Or were you in on it? Didn't think you two needed guest appearances of that type."

"Of course not!" Wash replied quickly. "That's not what she meant."

"Ain't nothing like that," Zoë agreed. "But never mind – I'm just telling you that it ain't easy to fool those ladies. Pretty talk won't work. We need some kind of proof that what we got is legal."

"OK, would someone maybe like to explain this now?" Wash asked, raising his voice enough to finally get a direct answer.

"What we got in here," Mal explained as he laid a hand on the box, "is some of the finest animal privates that ever got a man in the mood."

"In the… ?" Book muttered, but no one appeared to hear him.

"In the mood for dancing?" Wash asked.

"I guess some people might call it that," Mal replied thoughtfully.

"Animal privates?" Book asked, but again no one paid him any mind.

"Problem is," Zoë told Wash, "the folks we got waitin' to buy this are a houseful of _Companions_…" she stressed the word with a meaningful pause "…on Londinium, and we got to convince them the creature involved died old, fat and happy before his precious dangly parts were snipped."

Wash winced at her choice of words, and Book was inclined to agree with the sentiment.

"Snipped? Dangly parts?" Wash glanced back and forth between his wife and the captain. "This is not the kind of work I signed up for."

"I don't recall you specifying any particulars when you signed up," Mal replied, his humor fading. "Now, we got us a job, and it pays money. The kind of jingly coin that buys fuel and food and really loud, colorful shirts. Best you remember that before you start turnin' up your nose."

Wash opened his mouth to reply, but the captain went on before he could get a word out.

"And I don't know why you suddenly got all nervous," Mal snapped at Zoë. "This is easy. Easiest job we ever had. And if Badger's telling half the truth, and if Jayne ain't making up his own tales about the market for this, we stand to turn a fair profit."

Zoë looked down at the deck, her face tightening with frustration.

"Zoë," Mal continued, his voice softer, "if you got some bona fide reason to be speakin' up against this, say it now. Otherwise…"

"I just don't like it, sir."

Mal waited for her to say more, then huffed in frustration. "It'll get us by for some time," he said, "and being in the Core and solvent ain't a bad thing. We can look for a buyer for the Lassiter, and I got no problem with staying away of Niska's turf for a time. Kind'a like to keep all my body parts attached for a spell." He lifted a hand to his ear with a grimace, then glanced at Wash before he settled his gaze on Zoë again. "Unless you two have something solid to say, I won't take any more arguments. What I want to hear is ideas on how we can work this out as smooth as can be."

The only reply was a stretch of quiet as they all chewed on the situation. Book was actually forming a bit of a plan, but before he worked it out in full, Jayne stuck his head in the hatch, rubbing his jaw with one hand while he talked.

"Hey, Captain," he said, "we stayin' in the world a bit?"

"Why you askin'?"

"I got a' errand to run. Kind'a important."

Mal considered Jayne for a second, then asked abruptly, "What happened to your face?"

Book looked closer and noticed a patch of pink low on Jayne's cheek, like he'd been hit. It didn't seem to bug the mercenary much; he just snorted dismissively. "Misunderstandin'. Ain't a big deal."

Mal sighed. "But this errand of yours is?"

"That's right."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

Jayne straightened up and crossed his arms. "Nope."

Mal shook his head. "Sorry, Jayne, we gotta get moving. No time for this." He started motioning Wash toward the bridge, but Book figured it was time to step in and suggest an errand of his own.

"Captain," he said as he stood and left the alcove. "If you're willing to delay a bit, I believe I can take care of a problem for you – the problem with your new cargo."

Mal gave him a surprised look. "How you plan on doing that?"

"My brethren are located a shuttle ride away. I believe they can help." Book joined them at the table, explaining as he went, "It may interest you to know that my abbey trades produce with monasteries on other worlds, many of which raise livestock."

Understanding dawned on Mal's face. Book might have expected some slight thanks for the offer he was making, but apparently Mal's mood didn't include gratitude.

"How long will it take?" the captain asked.

"Including transit time… maybe two hours."

"You hear that, Jayne?"

Jayne replied with a nod and a grunt before he disappeared. Mal turned to Wash, who guessed the plan.

"I'll be going to the monastery then," the pilot said gamely. "Hey, Shepherd, do they still have a garden there? Think maybe we can barter for a few tomatoes?"

"Not this early in the season," Book replied, "but I'm sure I can arrange for something. Maybe some herbs…" He half expected Mal to grumble over that and demand that they hurry, but the captain only looked thoughtful.

"One of you ought'a get Kaylee to go along," he said. "She was seemin' kind'a blue this morning – might do her some good to get out."

Book felt somewhat sheepish that he hadn't thought of that himself. Kaylee had indeed been down lately, and a walk in the sunshine could help. While Wash prepped the shuttle, Book stopped by the engine room. Kaylee accepted the offer for a field trip with a grateful smile.

Ten minutes later, Shuttle One departed with the three of them on board, and Book found himself heading back to familiar ground.

o-o-o

Eleven Months ago

_Shepherd Book is standing over a large pot of steaming tallow when the message is passed to him. He sets aside a rack of half-formed candles for someone else to finish; the abbot has asked that he come quickly. _

_The summons surprises him, since he rarely gets involved with the larger business of the monastery. His role is that of a simple servant and laborer, moving in the quiet background of this quiet life. He's left the grounds only a few times in the years he's been here – humanitarian missions which all able-bodied members of the monastery take part in. Book's real satisfaction comes from the little tasks involved in monastic life. His garden plot, the company of his brethren, and time for reflection and prayer are all he needs. He has no worldly ambitions; Abbot Thomas understands this and has always left him be._

_Book's instinct that something unusual is afoot strengthens when he sees the abbot's face. The old man is in the chapel, wiping down the altar with a leather chamois. He turns and gives Book a measuring look, and the loose, wrinkled skin around his mouth pulls tight. _

"_Shepherd Book," he says, and he holds out a hand toward the front row of pews. Book nods and takes a seat. _

_Abbot Thomas joins him, folding his dusting cloth in his hands. He studies Book for a tense moment before he speaks. "I have an opportunity for you," he finally says, his tone grave. "A task which, of all the brethren, I think you are the best suited for."_

_The words makes a worm of uneasiness uncurl in Book's belly. He's always known that the abbot does more then tend to a monastery; after all, Thomas's other activities were what led Book to him. _

"_I'm a Shepherd now," Book says hesitantly, not sure if he's reading too much into this. "I have no wish to be anything else. Besides – you once said that you couldn't ever trust me–"_

_He stops when the abbot's face unexpectedly breaks into a smile, as if Book's reluctance has touched on a pool of fondness. "I'm not asking you to be anything other than what you are," Thomas says, "and trust can always be earned. Even by you."_

_Book blinks at that – he's not sure what he's done in the past six years to change the abbot's mind. Thomas doesn't tell him, just explains the task._

"_There's an innocent soul in need of aid," Thomas continues. "I want you to travel with her, see that she doesn't come to harm."_

_Book knows that he owes this 'verse a great debt, and though helping a single person won't come close to evening the score, he's of a mind to accept without further explanation. He owes the abbot that. But something in Thomas's eyes makes Book hold his tongue; there's clearly more to it._

"_This may involve going against the law," the abbot says gravely._

"_Whose law?" Book immediately asks. _

"_Does it matter?"_

_Book looks toward the altar and considers the question. His jaw begins to ache, and he finds that he's grinding his teeth. He exhales and forces himself to relax._

"_It does matter," he says softly, almost speaking to himself. "The laws of God and of my own conscience I'll never break again. But the laws of man… None of those should be followed blindly. The consequences…"_

_He stops and looks toward the abbot; his words have earned him another smile. "You're a different man than the one who first came through the monastery gate," Thomas says. "Come, I'll explain more while you pack your belongings."_

_Two hours later, Shepherd Book tilts his cart down into the dust of Eavesdown Docks. Truth be told, it's been many years since he faced a crowd of strangers on his own, and he's forgotten the art of moving through it. His limbs have aged as well – the simple, unhurried chores of the monastery haven't prepared him for this._

_He sits on the firm corner of his suitcase and fans himself for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and takes out the little Bible that's been part of his life for nearly a score of years. He opens the front cover to look at the name inside: _Franklin Jílè Thomas_. Up until six years ago, those words were the only ones he'd read from this book. The rest had stayed hidden, pressed in the darkness of their closed pages, waiting for him to be ready for them._

"_Shepherd?"_

_A woman is stepping into the small patch of shade he's found to rest himself in. She crouches next to him and holds a hand out, palm up. _

"_Spare a few coins for a lady down on her luck, luv?" she asks. He looks her over; her face is dirty and her clothes torn, and she has the dull, unpleasant odor of a true vagrant. He reaches for the coin purse hidden inside his belt, but his motions slow as the woman continues speaking, her voice softer. _

"_You's the one the abbot was sendin', right?"_

_Book looks up and hesitates before nodding. Abbot Thomas had told him he'd get more information once he arrived here, but he isn't expecting a contact like this; the woman is a far cry from the cool professionals he worked with in his former life._

"_The boy's got hi'self transport, and gone to get the girl," the woman continues._

"_Which ship?" Book asks._

"_A Firefly."_

_He pulls out the coin purse and digs a finger into it. "The name of it? The destination?"_

_The woman's dirty cheeks redden. "Never could take in writin' when I was hurried, and there weren't no time for standin'. But don't fret – there's a girl out front, that's the one takin' on folks. Got a swirly umbrella to block the sun. Ain't hard to find – but you best get to lookin' fore they take off."_

_Book nods again and hands her a coin._

"_The Lord bless you!" she says loudly as she stands up, then she disappears into the milling crowd._

o-o-o

"You sure it's all right for me to come along?" Kaylee asked Book. They were seated on a hard bench in Shuttle One, which, Book had to admit, had been a more comfortable place when Inara had lived there.

"I mean," Kaylee continued, "it's a home for menfolk, right?"

Book smiled at her concern. "It's true that no women live at the monastery, but we welcome visitors of all types. We can't do proper service to humanity if we refuse contact with half of them."

Wash piped up from the cockpit. "The real question is – are you sure they'll do this? There's not many religious types who'll get involved in the sex trade."

"No," Book conceded, "but, like myself, they are concerned with providing aid to people who need it."

Kaylee looked doubtful. "I guess anything as helps a man with his shēngqí yíshì is a' act of goodness, but don't exactly count as charity."

Book felt a little flustered that she'd mistaken his meaning. "I wasn't meaning the people who will… use the selesta. I mean the crew. The captain. We can't do anything to help Mal when we can barely buy fuel, and this is a way I can contribute."

"And your abbot will see it that way too?" Wash asked.

Book smiled to himself – Abbot Thomas wasn't likely to be thrilled with the idea, but he wasn't a man to be bound by the rules.

o-o-o

The abbot didn't need to say what he was thinking; he leaned back in his chair and looked at Book with a small smile.

"I know how it must sound," Book said, "but it's not a crime. Or, at least, it's minimal for this group."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Smugglers, I hear."

"Among other things. There's even a few who fought in the war – with the Independents."

That brought a thoughtful look to Thomas's face. "So you've been on a ship full of Browncoats and criminals? For nearly a year?"

Book had to smile himself at the strangeness of it. "There's been no need to move on. The boy chose his transport well – or got lucky, which is closer to the truth. The crew may not be the most upstanding people, but the ship is, possibly, the safest place for the girl to be."

"And… how is she doing?"

"Greatly improved since the first time I saw her, which is astounding after what she's been through." Book paused to study the abbot; he wasn't clear on how much the abbot knew. All the man had told Book a year ago was to go with River and Simon, to make sure that no one took advantage of them on these lawless worlds. The abbot had clearly known that the Tams were wanted by the Alliance government, but he had never mentioned any reason why.

"Do you know what was done to her?" Book asked.

"No idea," Thomas replied. "To be honest, I sent you after her for your own good more than anything."

Book stared at the abbot open-mouthed, startled out of his thoughts by the man's casual statement. "Is that so?" he asked.

The abbot shifted in his chair, leaning on an elbow and smiling at Book. "You're a man of action, Derrial. You were restless here, though you would never have admitted it. Probably didn't even know it yourself. You needed the isolation for a while, but it was time for you to go back out and be part of the worlds outside. And I was right, it's done you good – you look well."

Book wasn't about to argue the truth of that. The past year hadn't been easy, but it had strengthened him. "So… you didn't know about River?" he asked. "About the Academy or the people who got her out?"

Thomas frowned. "I told you that I'm no longer active with any of that. But I still hear tales now and then. An old… associate, you might say, was traveling through Persephone and he stopped by to visit the monastery. He told me that he'd just smuggled a girl out of the Core in return for some much needed funding, and that she seemed to have been greatly damaged. He didn't think that she and her brother would last long out here on the Bordor worlds."

"But he wouldn't help them himself?"

The abbot sighed and shook his head sadly. "He clearly viewed their plight on Persephone as someone else's problem. It's funny how a man can commit himself to saving the down-trodden masses of the verse, but not give a damn for a single down-trodden individual. Not if it's inconvenient to him."

"So you asked me to help her," Book said thoughtfully, then he smiled. "Two birds with one stone?"

"It seemed a timely opportunity," the abbot replied, then his face pulled into his own crooked smile as he added dryly, "And now you've turned to poaching."

Book tried his best to argue that. "It isn't a matter of poaching; the creature in question has already passed. And now it can benefit people who need help. This might even … give its existence more purpose…"

The abbot's raised brows showed his opinion of that bit of reasoning, but he didn't completely reject the idea. "This is for the sake of the girl?"

"In part. I must admit – I've grown fond of the whole crew. Perhaps they aren't free of sin, and perhaps they don't repent, but the depth of their loyalty to each other… " Book paused to take a deep breath and consider his words. "Abbot, I've seen more Christian behavior in a year with these 'uncouth heathens' than I did during decades of upholding the Alliance's laws. The good that these people do for each other… it's from the heart."

The abbot met Book's eyes and smiled warmly. "Again you surprise me, Derrial. Of course I'll help you, and this crew of yours."

o-o-o

While a scribe worked up the necessary documents, Book went in search of Kaylee and Wash. The pilot was sitting on a porch with one of the younger shepherds, a man Book recalled as having a lively personality. The two of them were chatting over pints of what looked like the monastery's very own ale. Kaylee was in the courtyard, wandering through Book's garden plot. The plants appeared to have been well tended in the past year, and Book was eager to see them for himself.

"I'm glad they've kept it up without me," he said to Kaylee when he caught up to her.

She looked up at him, clearly startled out of heavy thoughts, but then her face broke into a smile. "You put all this in yourself? That's somethin'."

"I had several years to work on it – and many willing helpers. The brethren appreciate flavorful food as much as _Serenity_'s crew."

Kaylee walked on, moving slowly along the stone path. "It's nice, Shepherd. It's real nice."

Book took a deep breath of the fresh country air and looked over the plot; it brought warmth to his soul to see it again. "This was one of my primary joys here," he said. "To create. To make something that grows and thrives–"

"Instead a' destroying," Kaylee interrupted softly. "Instead a' killing."

For an instant, Book thought she was speaking of his own past, because her words were so true of him. But then he focused on her, saw how her head was hanging and her eyes were down, and he understood what she meant.

During the weeks since Niflheim, he'd seen Kaylee's troubles, and tried to make himself available to her. But she'd always turned away from him, keeping the truths of her plight to herself. Perhaps he'd been wrong to leave her be. This wound she had clearly wasn't healing, and it wouldn't as long as she refused help.

"Kaylee," he said gently. "Destruction isn't pleasant, but it's a natural part of life."

She looked up at him. "Like murder?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

"Murder is… " Book stopped, unsure of how to answer that. "Murder is a strong word, Kaylee."

She turned away, but, to his relief, she didn't try to hide the true direction of her thoughts. "I shot him and he died, Shepherd. What else was it?"

Book shook his head; she couldn't mean to be calling what she'd done murder. "It was the only thing you could do," he told her earnestly. "Ray was hurting Inara. And with the Alliance after the ship – we could have all died if Mal hadn't been able to take over the controls. You saved us, Kaylee. I understand that you might not want to celebrate that, but surely you shouldn't be carrying this kind of weight over it."

Kaylee wasn't moved. Her jaw jutted out tensely, though she replied in a soft voice. "Shepherd, I may not be a gunhand like Jayne, but it ain't like I can't aim, from just a meter away. It ain't…." She drew in a deep breath before she finished, but her voice still came out a bit unsteady. "It ain't like I didn't know where Ray's heart was. I could'a missed. I could'a just hurt him, if I'd meant to. I know it."

Book exhaled softly – he hadn't realized she thought of it like that. "Kaylee…"

"You ever murder anyone?" she asked before he could go on.

"I… I have," he admitted, forcing the words out with difficulty.

She turned away from him, looking past the gardens to the low stone buildings. "And you came here and said a few prayers and made a nice garden and it was all forgiven? Just like that? Like it never happened?"

"No, Kaylee," he said, unable to lie, though it might have been better if he had. "It never goes away completely. Not really."

"That's what I thought," she said, and she turned her back to him, walking away with quick, tense steps.

Book didn't follow, though letting her go caused him pain. He knew that what she needed couldn't be given, nor could it be forced on her. She'd have to find it herself, the same as he once had.

o-o-o

Seven years ago

_Derrial paces outside the closed door to the chapel office, waiting to be admitted. Or turned away, which seems more likely, given what he's here to confess._

_He can't make himself be still, and that's something completely new to him. It isn't like him to be nervous, to have this kind of gut-curdling dread drive him to the edge of panic. _

_He's not entirely sure who he is anymore. It's been coming on for some time; he sees that now. The doubts have been brewing, bubbling up in the back of his mind as he watched this war build. He'd once believed in the work he did, believed so hard that the acts of immorality and cruelty he was sometimes required to take part in didn't trouble him. It was necessary, or so he was told, and he'd accepted that. But the war brought new things to light, so many horrible truths that he could longer silence the inner voice from asking questions he couldn't answer._

_And, finally, just a month ago, he saw something that he simply could not abide…_

"_I'm sorry I kept you waiting," a gravelly voice says. The man looking out from the chapel office is old. White hair floats in thin wisps around a face that has changed since Derrial first saw it in a capture so many years ago. The thick, weathered skin has sagged with age; the overall effect is one of softness, with a backbone of wisdom. __The man looks kind, and his sympathetic eyes take in Derrial's troubled state without any show of judgment. _

_The abbot waves him in to the office and offers a chair. Derrial doesn't sit; he's not yet sure of his welcome. He reaches into the deep inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a small book – a Bible. Carefully, he sets it on the large wooden desk. The abbot's warm smile fades a little as he picks it up; he doesn't check inside the front flap for his name, just runs his hands over the worn leather cover with a gentle familiarity._

"_That's yours?" Derrial asks, though he knows already._

_The abbot looks up and nods. "I lost it many years ago. Where did you get it?"_

_Derrial meets the old man's eyes. "I took it from your home. Confiscated it."_

_The abbot's eyes harden with understanding, but he doesn't appear to be angry, nor frightened. He leans back in his chair and leafs through the pages of the Bible as if reintroducing himself to an old friend._

"_Are you here to arrest me?" he asks evenly._

"_No," Derrial says, the word coming out with an unexpectedly heavy rush of air. "No," he repeats, "I'm not. I don't work for them any more."_

"_I've always wondered…" the abbot says, "why didn't you arrest us back then? You must have had all the proof you needed."_

_Derrial draws in a deep breath and finally takes the offered seat. He hadn't expected calm discourse; it's almost harder to handle than attacks and accusations would have been. He needs a moment to gather his thoughts. _

"_It would have drawn attention, arresting members of a religious order. You and your men were known for doing charity, and well loved in your community. We only needed to shut you down, make you leave the world before you did any real damage."_

"_And at that you succeeded." The abbot sets the Bible on his desk and focuses on Derrial again. His face is still soft, but Derrial can see the strength behind it, the inner mettle of a man who, for decades, took part in acts of civil disobedience that verged on rebellion. _

"_Why are you here?" the abbot asks, and now his voice has a slight edge to it._

_Derrial drops his eyes; he can't meet that righteous stare. "I don't know," he replies truthfully. _

_The abbot's voice doesn't soften. "I'm not active anymore. If you're here to find my contacts–"_

"_I'm not – I quit. I don't think they even know where I am. I've been traveling for weeks, looking for you. Looking for the owner of that book…"_

"_Why did you quit? It's a time of war; your government needs you."_

"_I can't…" Derrial has to pause, even his breathing again._ Who is this? _he asks himself._ Who is this man I've become, struggling not to sob?

_The abbot doesn't relent. "By your laws, I'm a criminal. Isn't it your purpose to uphold the law and stop those like me?"_

"_I used to believe so."_

"_But now you don't?"_

_Derrial can't look up; he doesn't know what he believes. "I've seen things," he finally says. "I've seen the things they do… to innocents… children." He has to cover his face with his hands. _

_The abbot is quiet for a moment, then he asks again, "Why are you here?"_

_Derrial realizes that maybe he does have an answer to that. He lowers his hands, allowing the man to see the wetness on his cheeks. "Your book – I've been reading it. Ever since I saw… There are things in there that I need to know about."_

"_I can never trust you," the abbot says flatly. "An organization that has done the things yours has wouldn't hesitate to send someone here to watch me."_

"_I know," Derrial says softly._

"_If you stay, it will be as one of the brethren. You will go to services, do chores, and take part in the small things we do to help those around us. That's all I can offer you."_

"_That's all I want," Derrial replies. It _is_ what he wants, he realizes. It's what really brought him here, and it's the only hope he has left. _

"_Please," he adds. "I have no where else to go." _

_The abbot studies him for a painfully long moment. "Keep this," he finally says, and he pushes the Bible across the desk. Derrial hesitates before he picks it up; this is a kindness he hadn't expected. The leather of the Bible's cover feels good in his hands, soft and supple and comforting. __It's really his now, he realizes, given instead of stolen._

"_What shall we call you?" the abbot asks, his voice soft now._

_Derrial has to consider this. He hasn't had a name in a long time; it hadn't been needed in his former life. When he left the Core a month ago, he reclaimed the first name of his childhood, but that's all he wants from his past. Nothing else about his life is innocent. _

"_Book," he replies. "Derrial Book." _

o-o-o

Zoë met them in the cargo bay, eager to hear the news.

"Here you are," Book said, pleased to hand over the paperwork. "A death certificate for a male elephant seal, which passed while in the care of my brethren on New Melbourne. Also, permission to make use of its remains as we see fit."

She gave the forms a lookover, then raised her eyes to Book. "I mean no blasphemy when I say that you are a miracle, Shepherd," she said.

"I'll pass on the complement on to He who deserves it," Book replied.

Zoë left quickly, calling Wash to follow her to the bridge so they could put Persephone behind them as quickly as possible. Book was in less of a hurry – he was feeling that particular kind of satisfaction that comes from doing a good deed. The mood provided a boost of energy, so he decided to continue to contribute to the crew's well-being by fixing a meal.

He found Jayne alone in the dining room, sitting at the table with one foot set up on the opposite knee so he could pick at the ragged sole of his boot with a knife.

"Did you finish your errand?" Book asked, but Jayne hushed him and waved his knife toward the alcove. Mal was laying across the chairs there, fast asleep. He didn't look particularly comfortable; in fact, it appeared that sleep had caught him by surprise.

"How's long he been like that?" Book asked in a whisper.

"Dunno," Jayne replied, getting back to work on whatever he was doing to his boot.

Book stood next to the table, unsure of what to do. The captain napping in a public place was something he'd never encountered before, and Mal didn't appear to be sleeping well. He had a hand clutching his chest, as if he was in pain.

"Perhaps we should do something," Book said.

"Bout what?" Jayne asked stubbornly, but he glanced over at Mal quickly after he said it. Book saw enough in that look – just a glimpse of worry in Jayne's eyes – to wonder if the merc had been sitting here for a purpose that he'd never admit to: watching over the captain.

"Why don't you go get Simon," Book suggested.

"You think Mal needs the doc?" Jayne asked. "He's just sleepin'." The words were dismissive, but his tone held just a small hint of doubt.

"It's best we be safe."

Jayne nodded, then put his knife away and disappeared through the aft hatch. Book quietly crossed the room; Mal had shifted onto his back. He was mumbling, two words spoken low and dangerous through clenched teeth: _Where's Niska?_

Book sat down next to the captain, not sure whether to rouse him or wait for the doctor. Mal laughed, a grim, ugly sound, then he slowly quieted. It still wasn't natural sleep – it was more like the captain was collapsing in on himself. His face went slack and body limp, his breathing shallow and pained.

Book looked around in alarm, but no one was coming yet. Gently, he touched Mal's arm.

"Captain?"

Even though he spoke softly, Mal woke with a start and sat up.

"How could I?" he asked, his eyes not quite focused. "How could I forget?"

"What did you forget?"

Mal looked up, focusing on Book but not seeming to really see. "Her. You know."

Book wasn't sure how to reply; he felt a small flutter of hope in his belly – perhaps Mal was finally regaining his memories…

"Who you do mean?" he asked cautiously.

The captain stared at Book blankly. He looked almost comical with his hair flattened on one side, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes still bleary with sleep.

"I have no idea," he finally said, then he shook his head. "I was having some crazy dreams, Shepherd. Crazy, crazy dreams."

"About what?"

_About Niska_, Book answered for himself, recalling Mal's words, but the captain wasn't so clear about it. He patted at his hair with a clumsy hand and spoke thickly.

"I was… we were leavin' someplace. Fightin'." Then he laughed. "You were carryin' a gun, Shepherd. So was the doc. And I… Gorramn. I died. Just died."

The captain's eyes were faraway; Book wasn't sure that Mal was even talking to him anymore. "In your dream?" he asked, and Mal looked up, startled.

"What was I sayin'?" he asked, then he shook his head again. "Sorry, Shepherd. Must be half asleep still. What the hell was I sayin'?"

Simon came clattering in the door just then, Jayne a few steps behind him. The doctor saw Mal sitting up and stopped, seeming unsure of what to do.

"Doctor," Mal called out, shrugging off his disorientation with obvious effort. "You in a hurry for lunch?"

"No – I just, I heard that… uh…" Simon looked back at Jayne doubtfully.

Mal stood up. "Jayne, you messin' with Simon again? Cut it out. Ain't time for it today. Work. We got work…" Mal paused, casting about, then he muttered to himself as he walked toward the hatch. "Oh yeah – Ezra. The last of those meds from Ariel – drop's on Ezra. Milk run, easy job. Me and Zoë'll go it alone."

Mal nodded, like he'd just convinced himself of something, and left the room.

"What exactly was that?" Simon asked.

"I believe… I believe I just worked something out," Book said slowly. "The things he forgets – it's while he sleeps. It's in his dreams."

Simon looked after the captain once, then came into the alcove to hear Book out.

o-o-o

Translations  
shēng qí yí shì: flag raising ceremony


	6. Chapter 6 of 14: River

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 6: River**

_Mal watches until both hatches are closed, his crew divided evenly between the two shuttles. They'll last a bit longer there, longer than he will on _Serenity_ with no life support. _

_It's the best he can do for them. _

_As he walks out of the cargo bay, it occurs to him that he might not see this part of his ship ever again. Just outside the hatch, he looks back for barely a second, taking it in with a suddenly vivid awareness. The cargo bay has changed since he first showed it to a skeptical Zoë years ago – and not just physically. Memories have defined it, given it meaning. Memories, and the people in them. He can almost see…_

… _the crew laughing as a ball arcs through the air and glances off a suspended metal ring…  
_… _sparks of bullets hitting the bulkheads when Niska's crew shows to collect the stolen medicine…  
_… _River curling up on the catwalk, like she wants to hide, like she hopes to keep her madness private…  
_… _Mal himself on the landing, dangling his feet over a small herd of cattle as he shares Kaylee's wine with –_

_He slides the hatch shut. _

_The infirmary has its own stories to tell: the Shepherd, so near death that Mal has to go to his greatest foe and ask for help. Simon, taking over the small room with an unspoken cockiness, a confident assumption that he owns it more than Mal ever can. Kaylee, her eyes blank with shock as Mal injects a sedative into her neck._

_Shades of Kaylee follow him up the long stairway to the corridor outside the engine room. Memories of the girl fill the space, from the first time he met her (though he'd tried his best not to see, considering what she and Bester'd been up to) to just an hour ago, when she sat staring at the ruined catalyzer in her hands. _

_He passes through the next hatch and seals it behind him, leaving the blasted engine room to recollect Kaylee's presence on its own._

_The dining room is a mess, chairs scattered and the remains of dinner and birthday cake all over the deck. This place is rife with memories: countless meals at the table, some relaxed and warm like the last, some crackling with animosity and discord. But more on his mind are all the little places – the alcove where he's spent many a sleepless night, playing at cards or reading any bit of copy he can get his hands on. The cabinet in the pantry where Jayne let some squirreled away snack rot and the smell lingers still. The burner in the galley that once nearly cost Wash his life (or, at least, his eyebrows) when he tried to rebuild it with a little more power. _

_Mal thinks of all this, but he doesn't let his steps slow. He passes through and seals off the hatch behind him._

_The fore corridor connects to the few places on this boat that remain strangers to him. His own bunk he knows, of course, and Wash and Zoë's bunk is familiar too, though he's seen it dressed up different than it is now. It was his once, before the two of them got married and needed the bigger space for themselves. Wash insisted on hauling in some gigantic mattress and stuffing it down the chute. Mal hasn't laid eyes on the cabin since. _

_The bridge has two hatches closing it in, like it needs the extra barrier to keep the rest of the ship out. Mal closes them both. His journey done, he sits in the pilot's seat and wraps himself in a blanket to hold back the creeping cold._

_All the sealed hatches don't quite do their work; his mind finds its way back through them, wandering the body of the ship. The oxygen, he knows, is going the opposite direction, channeling its way to the bridge in an effort to keep his body alive as long as possible. But his mind is out there still, watching the memories grow thinner. _

_The cargo bay, the passenger dorms, the infirmary, the engine room, the dining room, the crew quarters – all choke on carbon dioxide, the life that had been there fading away._

o-o-o

Moonbrain.

A moon wasn't like a brain, but a brain could be like a moon.

River's brain was.

Sometimes the inside of her head glowed with light that wasn't her own. Reflected light. Reflected voices. Reflected thoughts. They illuminated the things around her, changing the scenery. Even while she watched, the world morphed. Simple objects took on new meanings when the silver light shining from her brain found them.

Maybe it wasn't really a light. _(Of course it's not a light. I'm not _crazy But it acted like one. The glow of it made her fingertips tingle as she walked into the galley. Many things to illuminate in here – too bad no one else could see. Or maybe they could, but they knew how to ignore it. It wasn't so easy for her.

Little symbols. Like sharp glints of moonlight shimmering on an undulating water surface, those sparks were everywhere. Pretty little symbols, twisted black on blue or blue on white or sometimes white on blue. But always the same symbols, on walls, on signs. On billboards and bottles and electronics and clothes and tin cans full of green beans.

Those symbols had stories and stories and stories behind them. River didn't _know_ the stories. They hadn't been born in her head, and it didn't feel like they lived there, though they must. Somewhere hidden and dark, those stories must have found homes inside of her - how else would she be able to see these hints?

The stories wouldn't show themselves, not in full, but they wouldn't leave either. She didn't like thinking about that, about things that didn't belong to her living in her head. She preferred to believe that they existed in full blazing truthful brightness somewhere on the other side of the verse, and the light of them just glanced off of her, leaving her whole and unchanged underneath.

Like the moon catching the light of the sun. Like water catching the light of the moon.

Her moonbrain cast light on the galley, but no one else noticed. The symbols on the label of the can in Wash's hands were bright with the secrets of their stories, but he didn't even look at them. He was only interested with the things inside the can. River strummed her fingers against her leg as she stared. The label needed to come off. Her hands wanted the tear up the symbols and put them in a dark dark place where they wouldn't catch the reflected light and make her see their stories.

Wash's voice broke her concentration.

"Hey there, River. You hungry?"

She pulled her eyes up to the windows on his face. Nice windows. Good insides make good windows.

"Stomach's not hungry," she replied. "Hands are hungry." Fingers itched to tear paper from metal, but she'd tried that once. It didn't help. It scared people. They would just make her stop again.

Have to behave. No tearing. Stay still, fingers.

"I don't think I can help with that," Wash said with a glance across the room at the table, at Zoë sitting and watching. For just a second, River heard them thinking

_Here she goes again… _

"There somethin' else you need?" Zoë asked.

River frowned and scratched her head, scratched the part of her hair right above her forehead. Her brain was trying to tell her something. It'd been trying for a few days, since she got back from the mall, but she'd been too busy to think about it. Too much was happening. The captain was going away and Zoë was afraid and Simon was worried and Kaylee was hiding and Jayne didn't want her and Book was feeling pleased with himself...

But this morning the symbols kept catching her eye. Maybe it was best that all of the rest wait – just for a few minutes – while she looked and listened.

_Symbols need to be torn off, removed. _

No, it was different than that. She scratched harder, wrinkling up her face when her nails dug into her scalp. "Need to cut out eyes," she said, hardly knowing what words were coming out her mouth.

Wash stepped away. Afraid – still afraid of her, after all that had happened, after how hard she'd tried to behave. Zoë was looking at River now too, really _looking_. Zoë was full of worries and plans and memories and didn't look close often these days, but something had been enough to make her clear her mind. River listened back to what she'd just said.

Hmm, yes. That might do it.

"Why don't you have a seat, River?" Zoë said, patting the chair next to her. "I'd like to hear more about this cuttin' eyes thing."

River sighed impatiently. She'd said too much. She needed to be free to roam, to search while the moonbrain was shining. So she smiled. An innocent smile. A _silly Zoë_ smile. A _why do you worry?_ smile.

"Not real cutting," she said. "Just looking. Need to shine the light around. Find the right story."

She hoped that would be enough, but Zoë didn't look less worried. River searched for an excuse, for something that would ease Zoë's suspicions, and her eyes settled on the can. She took it from Wash, then let herself have the satisfaction of ripping the label off.

"Bad, bad paper!" she said. "Has… eyes." She glanced up at Zoë to see if she bought it, then threw the crinkled paper on the floor and stomped her foot on it. Just for good measure, she stomped again, then looked up and smiled.

"There – all better!"

She went toward the aft hatch, walking with a purpose so they wouldn't stop her. They didn't, but she heard Wash's comment: "Well. I feel safer now. Don't you, dear?"

River took the turn toward the stairs, heading down to the infirmary. Tearing up the label had felt good, but that wasn't the point of this. The labels were a clue; they glinted at her for a reason. Her brain had lit them up today to tell her something.

_Pay attention to details, the things only I can see. The truth is in the details. The truth is in the random things which aren't really random. React without thinking. _

That's how the special parts of her brain talked to her – in reactions without conscious thought. She'd learned that at the Academy.

o-o-o

Eleven and a half months ago

_Words enter her ears from outside, strange words. A diagram pops into her head as if it was called forth. _

(Of course it was; they can do that to me now.)

_The diagram in her imagination is a human body. Symbols mark weak points; the shape and color of the symbols describe the type of blows which are the most effective. _

(I'm a puppet, and they can pull my strings.)

_River is awake and standing in a square room, the diagram floating in her head. There is thin padding on the floor and three walls. She can't approach the fourth wall because a screen spans the room; behind the screen is a giant mirror. Like a dance studio, but not really at all._

_She knows that she is being watched by a crowd who wait behind the mirror. They are eager for the show to start. This is a test, an exciting one for them. She's advanced now, more advanced than anyone has ever been. She's a star. The Important Ones will be coming to see her soon, if she passes this test. _

_She doesn't like that idea. The Important Ones came once before, and they put horrible things into her mind._

_There are other people in the room – five men in padded suits. They are large and strong, and River feels fragile and cold in front of them. They look like they want to hurt her. She backs away, frightened and unsure. She hopes she will fail the test because she really doesn't want the Important Ones to come to see her again. But failing will hurt, too; the men will see to that. They are holding clubs, clubs with soft outer shells, padded so they won't damage her, but they leave bruises that ache for days. This she knows for certain._

_Words sound from a hidden speaker, words that River doesn't understand but the puppet inside knows well. Her mind empties of fear and confusion, fills with absolute confidence in her abilities and clear comprehension of and belief in her goal. _

_These men are her targets, and they must be dealt with._

_She doesn't think, just steps forward as if there is a path of light on the floor, prints showing her where to step, lines in the air guiding her movements. They shift just a second before the lead man changes his approach and attacks her. The lines are another diagram, showing where he's going to move, how he's going to strike, and how best she can counteract him. Distantly, she realizes that the lights shine out of her mind, that she is making this happen. This is what they've been teaching her all these years. _

_She does as the lighted patterns tell her, and then all five men are on the floor, injured and gasping in pain despite the protective padding they wear. River is aware that her audience is pleased. She steps forward; the puppet intends to finish the men, one by one. __The puppet is exhilarated. River is aghast._

_More words sound and her mind turns off as if someone flipped a switch. _

o-o-o

She'd passed that test, but the Important Ones never visited her again. Simon took her away before they could. Now she was here, on _Serenity_, and there was another test.

"Brains don't all belong," River whispered to herself. "Not the moon – moonbrain is all right. But other brains shouldn't be here."

She crept down the stairs, looking for clues. Looking for brains with eyes and ears and memories. Brains that needed to be cut out. All she found was Book, sitting outside the infirmary reading from his symbol. She came down the stairs quietly, but he knew she was there. He was a good listener. Just like River was a good listener – she heard Zoë above and behind her. Following. Watching. Just to _make sure the girl ain't gonna make trouble hold lunch for a few all right Wash? _

River sat down on the stairs, still halfway up into the shadows above the infirmary. She stared at Book. There was a story happening here. Words. The same words, hundreds of times over. He was reading them yet again.

"Does the meaning change?" she asked.

Book looked up at her, and the smile on his face was kind. Different from the kind light in Wash's eyes. Wash had always been kind. Born that way.

_The Shepherd has a long road behind him. _

_That ain't a Shepherd. _

"What do you mean, River?" Book asked, his tone smooth and soft because of the patience that ran so deep in him. He'd always been patient. Hadn't always been kind.

_Understanding is not necessary,_ he was thinking. _The effort is the point._

"Do new meanings come out?" she asked.

Book looked at her evenly for a few seconds as the cogs turned inside his head. He closed the book, one finger holding his page, then he looked down at it and realized what she was asking.

"Faith is a journey," he said, and he held up the book. "The words in here refer to truths in ourselves, and we are always changing."

_A long road behind him. He has passed through the shadows and chosen the kindness and the Light. _

"You need words to tell you truths you already know?" she asked.

He smiled. "Sometimes it's hard to see into ourselves."

River nodded her agreement.

He continued. "Words help. The wisdom of others who have lived before us is a valuable thing, and shouldn't be ignored."

River stared at the book. That made sense, except… "Those words are very old," she said. "Meanings don't apply anymore."

"It's true that some of the details are a little… outdated. The world has changed in two and a half millennia. But the things that are true to the heart, and the soul, will always ring true. You have to look beyond the stories."

_Stories. _

Āi yā – she'd almost forgotten! She stood up and trotted quickly down the stairs, pausing at the bottom just long enough to look at Book's book one more time and shake her head.

"Isn't the story I need."

"I'm trying to tell you, River; it's not just a story – "

"Doesn't light up. Need to keep looking."

She put her hands over her ears so he wouldn't distract her again, and hurried into the cargo bay. Book's confusion and frustration followed her anyway, and she felt him sigh inwardly at the way she'd abandoned the conversation. _Making an effort is all I can do. Understanding River is not possible. _

She ignored him. "Kill the bad brains," she whispered. "Important."

But what is their story? And where in her brain does it hide? She had to reach further back…

o-o-o

Fourteen months ago

_She is dreaming again, but it is a good one. Gentle hands adjust her body as a firm voice instructs her._

Engage your turn-out, and don't forget the standing leg. Heel below knee. Knee above hip. Arm up, shoulder forward, slight elbow curve. Long wrist. Hip forward but still down. Easy hold on the barre, River. Try to balance without it.

_Muscles in River's lower back clench; her hip tries to twist. This leg shouldn't go that high, her body says, but she holds it there anyway. Despite the teacher's words, her left hand clutches the barre tightly as she fights to turn out the standing leg and maintain her balance._

River, look in the mirror. Do you see yourself?

_Twelve year-old River, en pointe for the first time, looks over her right shoulder. She sees her face, framed by bun and raised right arm. Her back is wide open, shoulder blades pressed outward. A long smooth curve starts with her right hand above her head, runs through her side into her right leg which is held up behind her, knee slightly bent in an attitude line. The pale peach satin shoe on her beveled right foot finishes the form with a slight upward stroke. The long, curving shape of her body balances on the straining toes of her left foot._

_River smiles. She looks like a dancer. She looks like a ballerina on stage in the City Center Theater. Elation fills her chest. _

_Until pain jabs into her forehead… it all changes then._

Using hip means using back. Throw shoulder forward, relaxed and ready to move. Stance is not static but dynamic; the form is to allow the function.

Exercise: Use the foot's contact with the floor as a base to gather power, recalling as always that balance is the key. The force of the blow must come from speed and precision, not strength. Raise the extended leg as high as possible, slightly across the body, then sweep outward to the side, in a circular movement to strike the opponent's head or shoulders.

_River feels the muscles in her back and leg tensing, the movement so vividly portrayed in her mind that she feels like she's doing it. The sensation startles her almost awake, and she hears men talking:_

"_Are you sure the triggers are taking?"_

"_The mental training will accelerate the physical. We'll run trials with multiple opponents in a few weeks, before They come to visit."_

"_Run several tests. We can't have her falling apart like she did last time. If They had seen that…"_

_She sinks back into the lesson._

Always be aware of the path that the opponent's attack has to traverse in order to reach you. Defend that path, but attack through it as well. Shift your body to minimize the surface area exposed to attack. Your position must take optimal advantage of the attacker's weaknesses while simultaneously presenting few openings or weaknesses of your own.

Exercise: …

o-o-o

The captain was working in the cargo bay, checking over the spacesuits. He must have heard her soft footsteps because he turned and gave her a quick look over. Cursory. Annoyed. A little concerned. Not for her, but for what she might do.

_She is an odd one,_ he was thinking. _Not quite right._

River stopped where she was, frozen. She recognized the way he looked at her; she'd sensed that kind of appraisal from the captain before, but not for a long time.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked. He sounded cold, impersonal. Wrong. She couldn't find exactly what it was about him, but it startled her. She didn't know what to do.

"You lost?" he asked.

River circled around him, staring. Looking in the windows. What else was missing in there today? Mal shrugged and turned back to the spacesuits. _Need to keep them in repair. Can't be running out of air. _

"You dreamed," River said.

He turned and looked at her, surprised. Of course, he no longer knew that she could read. All she was, in his mind, was crazy.

"Little bits still there," she said, speaking more to herself than to him. "Little echoes to make you wonder. Not enough to know why. And they fade away…"

He wasn't listening, not really. It was gibberish to him. "How 'bout you entertain yourself elsewhere. I got work to do." He turned back to the suits. _Never know when the atmo might go down…_

"I told the preacher man," she said. "Would have frozen first."

Mal's look turned suspicious. "What are you talkin' about?"

She sighed sadly, then grabbed the railing and lowered herself to the stairs. When she didn't answer his question, Mal shrugged, then picked up the suit he'd been working on and started stuffing it back into the locker. River tilted her head against a metal upright and watched, trying to hear the things she couldn't make him say.

He was disappearing inside himself, that she knew, but she couldn't see where he was going. The things he couldn't remember were either completely gone or buried so deep that she couldn't reach them any more than he could. So much missing, more than she'd expected. She hadn't been physically close to him in a few days, and hadn't realized that the hole had grown so large. So many little moments that couldn't be replaced...

It added up in a way that made her eyes tear up. He didn't know her anymore, not really. He didn't trust her like he used to.

_Cold, impersonal. Cursory and annoyed. A little concerned about what she might do… _

She had to wipe her eyes. It hurt; it really hurt that Mal didn't recall how she'd distracted Will and Ray and Ginger when they stole the ship on Niflheim, that she'd made sure they wouldn't kill him. He didn't know she'd been with him on Oeneus when he was lost in his nightmares. He'd forgotten how she'd saved everyone from Jubal Early. Now he thought she was just pitiful. Unbalanced, unstable; a wreck of a girl.

It tore at her heart, more than she would have thought possible, until suddenly she realized what was happening –

She loved Mal.

She loved Mal!

She gasped – it was perfect! How did she not see it before? They were both hurt, both driven from happy lives by forces beyond their control. Brought together by random fate, despite all odds. And here they were, a dispossessed princess and a dark, dangerous pirate, each the best chance the other had to be loved.

She slapped a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammer inside her body. They needed each other! River and Mal. River Reynolds. Malcolm Tam. She would heal him. He would show her sensuous love and the beauty of the verse, then rediscover joy by seeing it in her eyes.

"Oh, Mal!" she said in a breathless voice, and pulled herself to her feet.

He turned from the locker, confused. "Hunh?"

She fluttered her hands in front of her, trying to swallow the words. Not now – she couldn't talk to him about this now. He didn't remember who she really was. She'd have to be patient, wait until he was better.

"Méi shén me!" she said. "Nothingnothingnothing!"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, probably because she was nearly jumping up and down in her excitement. "What the hell are you playin' at?" he asked, looking like he thought she was truly insane.

She was. Insane in love. Crazy in love!

She took a deep breath and made herself stand still, then crossed her arms over her stomach and smiled at him smugly. This was just as it should be. The hero and the heroine had to start off at odds with each other; it made it sweeter when they finally came together. That was what always happened in the novels she borrowed from her mother's bookshelves – the ones in the basement, not the serious tomes kept upstairs for company to see. The downstairs books had pink and white covers with women in tight fancy dresses and men with bare chests and pretty hair.

"Someday," she said, "you'll remember and you'll understand."

A voice sounded from the catwalk, the tone warning: "River."

River looked up. Zoë was there. Following. Watching.

"Not doing anything bad," River said defensively.

"She's just bein' her odd self," Mal said, also looking up. "No harm."

River felt her face warm up and she looked back at him proudly. Of course he was defending her. Somewhere in his heart, he had to know. He had to know that they were destined for each other.

Zoë wasn't placated. No trust. "I need you upstairs, Captain."

"Somethin' important?"

"Lunch."

River pursed her lips. There were always forces trying to keep lovers apart, but they wouldn't succeed. Can't stop fate. She decided to bide her time, and stayed behind when Mal went to join Zoë and Wash.

But she didn't stay patient for long. It was unsettling to find love, but not _have_ it. The elation just wouldn't stay with her. She walked in a few tight circles on the cargo bay floor, then realized that Book could see her from the common area by the infirmary. He was looking at her in that way he had, like he could help her if only she'd let him. If only she'd tell him all - confess her sins.

She huffed at him once, then jogged up the stairs.

The catwalk was a good place to sit. The best, when she was feeling unsettled. The grating wasn't the most comfortable, but being up here made her feel like she was hovering, suspended above everything. And it was good to be able to see, to know what was happening beside and below and above her, all at once.

She chose her place and sat, then slumped onto her side to curl up on the cold, hard steel. Before she'd met Jase on Niflheim, she hadn't minded passing time on her own. But now she knew how much better it was to be with someone else. She'd had so little time to enjoy it; Jase had been on board for only a few days.

She closed her eyes and remembered soft lips against hers, the heat of hands sliding over her body, and the shivers of kisses on her neck. He'd been just barely more than a boy – what would it be like with a man? With Mal?

"What'cha doin'?" a rough voice asked.

She pushed herself up to sitting, shaking her head to clear it. Jayne was coming down from the upper deck, and the sight of him made her blush. Just yesterday she'd thrown herself at him. That would have been so wrong! What in the verse had she been thinking? Mal was the only one for her.

"Nothing," she said sadly. "Doing nothing. All I'll ever do. Nothing and more nothing."

She expected some pity, but Jayne actually chuckled. "I might be able to change that," he said, and he sat down next to her. River's stomach sank. She need to explain, to let him down easy…

"Don't want you," she said firmly.

Jayne frowned like he was insulted. "Hey, I said no first, don't be forgettin' that."

"Shouldn't have asked. I was confused. Didn't know what I was doing."

"Couldn't help yourself," Jayne said with a grin. "No shame in that. I'm an awful temptin' hunk a' manhood for a thing like yourself to be seein' everyday."

River forgot her lovelorn despair just long enough to roll her eyes, but Jayne didn't notice.

"Well – here," he said. "I got ya somethin', before we left Persephone yesterday. May help ya get by, since you can't have me."

He held out a plain black cardboard box. River looked at it for a second, torn between wanting a present and needing to preserve her dramatic state of heart-break. Curiosity won, and she took the box.

Her eyes widened when she opened the flap and looked inside. It was… Really? She looked at Jayne, speechless. Everything but the contents of the box was forgotten.

Jayne glanced around the bay, then leaned toward her and spoke softly. "You tell anybody where you got that, and I'll… I'll… do somethin' real bad. You got it?"

River just stared at him; the implications of this gift were still sorting themselves out in her head.

"Mal's like to shoot me. And Simon'd… I dunno, but I'm thinkin' his mind gets just as twisted as yours, and there ain't no telling what he'd do. So I'd be pleased if you just keep this to yourself."

"Won't… won't tell," she stammered. "Have to… I have to go…." She started to get up, but Jayne put a hand on her arm to stop her.

"Stop by and see Kaylee," he said. "They didn't have no batteries in the place I got that."

"Batteries?" River asked.

Jayne grinned. "Makes it vibrate."

River needed a second to process that. Then she jumped to her feet and hurried out of the cargo bay.

o-o-o

Kaylee was in the back corner of the engine room. She had a wide board laying on the grating of the deck in front of it, covered in tools and a scattering of electronic components.

"Batteries – need batteries," River demanded as soon as she came in the room.

"Careful!" Kaylee replied, holding out a hand to guard the board. "Don't be knocking stuff over. There's some small parts in these."

River pulled up short before she could make a mess of Kaylee's workspace, and she looked down at the thing in the mechanic's hand. There were symbols on it. Little symbols that glowed so bright that she couldn't look away.

Suddenly, River's purpose got lost. No – it got found. Nine brains to cut out. Eyes and ears where they didn't belong. Long, deep memories. Nosy memories.

Sex herself later, get rid of brains now.

She plopped down and dropped the box containing her new toy on the deck next to her, temporarily forgotten.

"River, what're you – " Kaylee's question was cut off when River reached out and snatched a uTex out of a box.

"Wait – I just fixed that one!" Kaylee protested.

"Not enough," River said distractedly. Kaylee reached out to take the thing back, but River spun herself away to keep out of reach. She didn't lift her eyes off the uTex. She was focused now – she knew the story.

o-o-o

Eighteen months ago

_The Academy made sense once, but now it's become a blur of trials and pain and confusion. She can't separate one day from the next or the dreams from wakefulness; she just does as they tell her and holds on to her own secret hope – that Simon will get her letters and know…_

_But this particular day is different. On this day they wash her hair and put her in crisp new clothes. They want her to look healthy and clean for her first real test – she's going to have an audience. _

_Important People._

_Her blurred mind focuses as they explain; it's a very simple test, but she cannot fail. Must not fail. Everything (funding, she sees the truth behind their words) depends on impressing the Important People. _

_They seat her at a table and explain the test, although she knows it well. It's one of the easier tasks she's had here. More of a game, really. A man across the table holds up a card, blank on the side facing her but not on the side he sees. The shape on the hidden side of the card fills the man's mind. It fills hers, too, and she identifies it with words. The man is happy. That's good; it means they won't hurt her. (Not today, anyway.)_

_New card. New shape. _

_A door opens and the People come in. River's used to being watched; she continues the game and doesn't look away. _

_New card, new shape._

_Clouds of glinting bright light form beneath the simple squiggly lines and circles and triangles that the doctor is showing her. She misses a shape and the doctor tenses. She concentrates, and doesn't miss any more._

_New card, new shape._

_She continues the game, perfect, but there's hardly enough air in her lungs to say the words she has to say,_

_New card, new shape._

_because the lights that came in with the people have stories. Some of the stories scream and rend and tear and violate_ it's not their fault they're doing it they weren't able to lie down

_New card, new shape._

_but some of the stories are dull and come with diagrams_ provides access to dangerous information… must track communication between suspected parties… device inserted here…

_New card, new shape._

_and other stories are just confusing_ can create the need… will provide just cause… presence will be required… contract to give complete control over local…

_and some of the stories slip by so fast she can't make out a thing about them..._

_As soon as the Important People leave the room she falls out of her chair onto the floor, curling up and trying to tear the glinting lights and the horrible images out of her head_ people falling down _the simple shapes are gone_ but not everyone died _she tries to pull them back to cover up the bright lights that the visitors brought _the live ones are worse _they'll burn up her mind if they don't fade_ they're hungry _the pictures have to go into the back_ they need _down deep_ they've done things _where she'll never have to see or know these stories again…_

o-o-o

Moonbrain lit the way, and she knew what needed to be done. She pried open the casing on the small electronic device, then lifted out the tiny circuit board inside. Kaylee had needle-nosed pliers setting out, her smallest pair that had a nice sharp, clean edge on the tip. River picked them up, inhaled deeply, then held her breath to steady her hands. Carefully, she plucked a tiny component off the corner of the board.

Exactly where she'd seen it on the diagram in the mind of the Important Person.

She glanced up. Kaylee was watching with hurt all over on her face – she didn't know the story. She didn't know what was needed. No moonbrain there.

River adeptly reassembled the little gadget, then set it down on the board. She held out her hand.

"Next."

Kaylee closed her fingers over the uTex in her hand, and pulled it close to her chest protectively. "Why'd you go and break it?" she asked. "It took a long time to fix."

River sighed impatiently, then she picked up the device she'd just operated on. She flipped the tiny capture camera up and aimed it at herself, rotating the projector so it would shine on the curved outer surface of the engine next to them. She watched her distorted image as she spoke.

"Works fine. I fixed it."

"So what'd you do?" Kaylee asked.

"Don't want to be tracked. Can't have anyone know where I am. Fugitive. Fugitive and future pirate lover."

River sighed longingly, wanting Kaylee to ask, but the mechanic dismissed the words without really hearing them. She picked up the tiny component that River had removed from the device, and her mouth opened in fascination as she stared at it.

"You mean this is – "

"Also," River interrupted. "Don't want anyone keeping track of where I go on the cortex." She snapped the camera lens down, shutting off the capture, then leaned toward Kaylee, speaking in a whisper. "Going to use mine to look at sex."

"I'm sure you won't be the only one," Kaylee said, less impressed than River had hoped she'd be. The mechanic was more interested in studying the chip.

"Stores data," River explained. "Shows location and tracks communications. Security measures. Legal according to provisions in the Federal Security Act. Sneaky sneaky." _Absolutely necessary to know who is searching for certain keywords… legislation allows it… public doesn't need to know the details… matter of Alliance security, perfectly legal…_

"How'd you know all that?"

"Voices reflect." _But don't live in me. I hope they don't live in me._

Kaylee set down the chip and frowned at the uTex. "It's safe now?"

River nodded. "That one is. I'll fix them all, if you give me batteries."

"Batteries for what?"

River picked up her black cardboard box and held it against her stomach. She wanted to show and tell – Kaylee would know about this. Would think it was fun. But Jayne had asked her to keep it secret.

"Present," she said. "Early birthday present."

Kaylee's eyes fell on the box like she hadn't noticed it before. "From who? Simon?"

River chewed her lower lip. If she told Kaylee what it was, she'd have to say who gave it to her. Then Kaylee would ask what was going on between her and Jayne, and River would have to explain how it was nothing, and why…

Even more than she wanted to tell about her toy, River wanted to tell about Mal. She wanted to talk about the man she loved, and wanted her friend to be happy for her. But, somehow, River knew it wouldn't go that way. Kaylee wouldn't understand. Kaylee might even tell her that it couldn't ever work...

No, it was best not to talk about any of it. "Secret," River said softly.

There was a time when she wouldn't have gotten away with keeping a secret from Kaylee, but not anymore. Things weren't so simple as they used to be. The wave of Kaylee's curiousity swelled, questions about the box and a birthday party (_birthday party_ River noted for later consideration) flying through her mind and leading right to _why hasn't Simon come to talk to me? ain't I part of it? maybe he don't want to see me…_

Suddenly, Kaylee's curiousity fell into shreds. She shrugged and leaned over to reach for a box sitting near the bulkhead, and she pushed it toward River.

"Help yourself," she said. "And don't worry – I'll fix the rest of these things. I seen how you done it."

River picked through the box of batteries, then looked at Kaylee. The mechanic was hunched over, completely focused on the uTex that she taking apart in her hands. She didn't want to talk. River watched long enough to make sure Kaylee took out the right bit, then she gathered her toy and her batteries and left.

o-o-o

She managed to avoid everyone on her way down to the dorms. The common room was empty, but Simon was in the infirmary now, bent over his cortex. The way his head lay heavily on his hand told River that he wasn't getting much reading done – none of the words were sticking in his brain.

She paused to look in the little window. Her brother wasn't happy; she knew that, and it made her sad. But she'd been leaving him alone in his bad mood. There were blocks up inside him. Nothing she couldn't get around if she really tried, but she wasn't going to do that, she wasn't going to pry into his secrets.

Even so, little bits and pieces of his troubles were always floating about, impossible to ignore. Kaylee was involved, but it went much deeper. It went into things that a brother and sister had to handle on their own. Sex wasn't something family did together.

River blushed, remembering how she'd once played at carrying Simon's baby, saying proudly that she and her brother were going to get married. It had made sense then – she loved Simon, and Simon loved her, and marriage was about love. But she knew now that there were different kinds of love. For Simon, one kind was getting in the way of the other.

River wondered if it might be the same for her. Maybe she needed to move away from the childish love before she could have the one for grown-ups.

_So you're an independent eighteen year old fugitive. I'm sure you have lofty plans._

Simon hadn't really meant it when he'd said that – not in the mean way it had sounded. She knew that. But his sarcasm had been right; she could have no lofty plans, not as long as she depended on him for everything. He couldn't either. He'd be stuck with her, worried about her, turning his back on Kaylee and all the things he wanted for himself.

River put her hand up to the window so that it seemed to lay against his back. Her big brother needed to be free. That would only happen when she found her own life – her life with Mal.

She snuck past the infirmary hatch on silent feet, closing her mind to Simon's thoughts so he could ponder them alone.

o-o-o

Translations  
méi shén me: it's nothing


	7. Chapter 7 of 14: Kaylee

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Kaylee**

_Mal walks down the cargo bay ramp into a thick haze. Rays from the early morning sun shatter into a glare that cuts his eyes, a light so golden-white that no other color can challenge it. The sight makes a notion flit through his mind: _Ain't this kind of bright familiar somehow?

_It's ghostly quiet. Canton's mud works have been shut down in celebration of the new holiday and all the locals are still abed, most like weighed down by too much Mudder's Milk thickening their blood. Mal squints across a flat space, empty of the activity that'd been there the day before, and he searches until he finds a group of shadows breaking up the monotony: buildings. _

_That's where he needs to go – it's time to collect his crew and find the cargo they're to pick up. He heads toward the fuzzy brown shapes, on the way passing rows of tall, dry reeds that tower over him. _

_Maybe it's the stillness, maybe it's the way the light bleaches out this hard world, (maybe it's a memory that nips at him, once forgotten but somehow getting loose again), but it seems like something important and basic is shifting, something so obvious and pervasive that he can't hope to recognize it outright. _

_His steps slow as his thoughts wonder (chasing the memory even as it skitters away) and he comes to a stop by a pit full of bubbling mud. Dully, he stares down into it and breaths the sour, earthy stink it gives off. He understands that he's just broken out of some kind of part he was playing, a role that he's supposed to be acting out. He should be descending into the tavern, waking Kaylee and Simon, gathering a still drunk and newly heroic Jayne. In one part of his mind, Mal sees himself doing just that, even as he stands motionless. It's almost like two realities are happening at once. _

Two realities?_ the question floats across his mind._ Ain't that one more than usual? And maybe two more than the truth?

_Just like that, the elusive memory breaks free, and a third string of events unfolds… _

_A shaft of (familiar) hazy sunlight pours through a high window in a bar; it blinds him as he picks a table and sits. A blond kid at the next table over talks tough and makes a challenge. Mal reacts (a bone snaps in his hands) and then it's like the rules have shifted because it's not possible that this kid is here on this world instead of left far behind on New Melbourne with a broken face, like reality itself is out to make mischief. _

_Mal tries to get out, but finds more fools on the street. The threat of them can't be bypassed (a lawless man drags Kaylee toward a dark doorway) though the endless struggle is wearying Mal to the core (he swings a boot at the cost of another man's eye). Even as he fights his way free he can't get to Kaylee (the numbing sting of a sonic rifle takes him down) because the Alliance have come out of nowhere (the butt of a rifle knocks him out cold)…_

…_and when he wakes up in a cell, the real madness starts._

_Mal shakes his head; he's still standing by the mudpit. It wasn't real, he tells himself. The place where he broke an innocent kid's arm and saw Kaylee taken away by a rapist was a nightmare, forced on him by Alliance interrogators who think a human mind is their own to twist about as they please. And he'd believed it. He'd fallen for the insanity without a bit of fight. _

_Never again, he promises himself, and he steps back from the pit and looks around with new eyes. This place isn't what it seems. It's a hoax, just like the planet where he'd stumbled into a bar looking for a job and finding only violence was a hoax. That place didn't exist; this one must not either._

_He steps back further, not sure where to go, how to get out, then he stops short when a prickling sense of weight falls across his back. There's a threat behind him, something big and angry and likely armed and ready to strike. Mal turns slowly, not wanting to face whatever horror is waiting for him in this place, but there it is, towering over him – _

A loud clang and sudden light pulled Mal away from the hazy nightmare, but that last thing he'd seen stayed frozen in his mind.

Kaylee's voice floated down into his bunk; she was trying to whisper but he heard her clear as could be:

"No, River! Let him sleep!"

"But I want to give him the – "

The rest of River's response was cut off when the door swung shut again. Mal rolled to his side, putting a hand to his head to try to shut out what he'd seen. Everything else in the dream was fading, nearly gone already, but that last image stubbornly remained.

Dear God – why he was seeing a statue of Jayne in his dreams? Why Jayne Cobb, standing tall with the sun behind him, its rays making a golden halo around his head?

"I'm still sleep," Mal told himself thickly, and he did feel nearly asleep, the warm blanket making a cocoon that pinned his heavy limps down and trapped him where he lay.

"I'll wake up for real… won't be rememberin'..."

The heavy sleep sucked him down again, to another dream where

_a woman with orange-red hair is waiting in his bunk. She's in his bed and naked as they come, and tells him how she admires him, wants him, would choose him over all others…_

o-o-o

Dear Inara,

I hope you are settled down. I know how you missed being in the Core with  
the other ladies from the House. Are all your clients still there? Anyone real  
fancy bring you presents because they missed you so much?

We went by Persephone after you left. Jayne says that Badger is just as much  
a yăoxī gài de rén as ever. Gave us a job that – I guess I better not write about  
that. I hear there's folks who listen in on personal waves, so I got to be careful  
with the post too.

I have been busy. The new mule needs a lot of work. I want her looking real  
shiny! I decided it's a her, but I ain't thought of a name yet. The ship is keeping  
me busy too. Always something that could be fixed better! We are traveling now,  
and going slow, so I got time for it. Zoë wants us to take our time, to save up on  
fuel, and

Oh, goramnit. I can't do it! I was trying to write all goods things cause I don't  
want to make you worry. I know you meant to leave for good. You told me that,  
and I can see as how you would want to have your own life. But we are coming  
to the Core, and if there was any way you could

I can't say that neither.

Hell, hell, and hell! I know I shouldn't, but I got to explain. Some, at least. You  
see, it's all gone bad. Everyone's got their own things they are thinking on (I guess  
that means me too, but I don't want to write about that just now) but the real thing  
is the captain. Something's happened to him, Inara. I ain't about to blame you, no  
one is. Simon says it must have started way back and not had anything to do with  
you really, but it got bad just after you left.

I don't know how to tell you. I guess I'll just say it and hope it don't hurt you bad.  
Things is – Mal don't remember you. There's something wrong in his head. He got  
all sick the day you left when we showed him a capture of you. Not sick like he  
hated you, not at all! It was like he couldn't think about you. Like it hurt him. I don't  
know why. No one does, not even Simon.

Now the captain's started forgetting other things too. He gets worse every day. We  
can't talk to him – we have to pretend everything is all right. Zoë won't let us talk  
about you at all.

I don't know what to do! It's so hard, cause Simon don't want to talk to me no more  
either. That's my fault, I guess, but I don't know how to make it better. I wish I could  
talk to you! It is too much to explain in a letter. I'm sorry I'm writing all this. I wasn't  
gonna say nothing. But I can't help but think that if you were here maybe

o-o-o

Kaylee dropped the pencil and wiped at her eyes. She set the unfinished letter on the bed next to her so she wouldn't wet the paper. Or maybe she should she just let her tears fall; maybe if Inara saw that she'd cried while she wrote, it would convince her…

No, that wasn't any good. She couldn't do that to Inara.

She'd really had no plan of getting into all this. It was supposed to be just a short note, to keep in touch like Inara asked before she left. None of the bad stuff. Certainly, nothing about the captain.

Kaylee glanced over the letter again, trying to calm down and consider it reasonable-like. It made some kind of sense to ask Inara to visit, didn't it? Of course Inara hadn't meant to hurt Mal, but he'd gone strange right after she left. So it wasn't her _fault_, really, but it had to have something to do with her. And that meant that she might be able to help. She'd helped Mal right after Oeneus, she might be able to do it again. Right?

Kaylee blew out a shaky breath. It could also be that seeing Inara would be bad for the captain, and more than anything Kaylee didn't want to hurt him worse. The last thing Kaylee wanted was to hurt anyone.

Anyway, how likely was it that Inara would actually come? She'd had no plans of seeing the crew of _Serenity_ again – she'd made that real clear the night before she left.

o-o-o

Seventeen days ago

"_Kaylee, could you shut that thing off?"_

_Kaylee holds the capture where it is, still recording as Inara walks across the shuttle. "But I gotta have proof that we had a real Companion on board. No one'll ever believe it!"_

"_I don't think anyone really wants to see proof of my presence here. Especially…" Inara stops and turns away, picking up some candles that she'd tied into a bundle. _

_Kaylee shuts off the capture – this kind of talk shouldn't be recorded. "You mean… especially the captain?" she asks._

_Inara glances at her, but doesn't answer. She turns away to set the candles in a crate._

_Kaylee doesn't want to let it go. "Inara, I know it ain't my business, but I gotta ask – "_

_Inara interrupts, but she speaks gently. "You don't have to ask; I know what you're wondering."_

"_And it ain't my business, huh?"_

_Inara sighs, then she gives up on her packing and sits next to Kaylee on the stripped bare bed. She doesn't speak right away. It's like she needs time to put the words together right, and that isn't something Kaylee sees in Inara often_

"_It's not that," Inara finally says, her voice calm but her eyes far away. "It's just… talking won't help. There's nothing to be done. I let the situation go too far, and it can't be fixed. The best thing I can do is leave."_

_Kaylee isn't one to judge, and it's never been her way to be harsh to anyone, but she can't help thinking that Inara isn't being fair. _

"_But… what about _him_?" she asks. "You can't just leave him after what happened. I mean… I seen how he was right after. It wasn't just some tumble you had, it was –"_

"_It was a mistake," Inara says, her voice suddenly sharp. "This whole thing was. It was never my intent to get so involved with you all. I only needed time away. I never expected…"_

_Inara looks away, lost in whatever she isn't saying. Kaylee's glad of it, because she's getting mad. It's not just a touch of frustration or a bit of impatience; it's a rage that collects up in her chest and rises into her throat so wild and hot that it makes her want to yell. Even if it's not a fair thing to say, she wants to scream at Inara: _What is it with you Core people? Why do you think we ain't good enough to love?

_She pinches her lips together to hold the words back, but it's not easy. It's like there's a pool of black bitterness living deep inside her, and it wants to come out. She found it just a few days ago, and she can't make it go away. It came up with Simon yesterday, doing damage that she doesn't know if she'll ever fix. Now it's trying to get at Inara, boiling up thick and inky. If she lets it out, she might not be able to pull it back in._

"_Kaylee, will you write to me?" Inara suddenly asks._

_Kaylee hesitates, her anger partially buried under surprise. "I ain't ever been much with writin'…"_

"_Please? I can't be separated from you all, and have no idea what's happening. Just don't tell Mal, all right?"_

_Kaylee doesn't like that. She's never lied to the captain, and she doesn't mean to start anytime soon. "I don't wanna keep secrets," she says; she can hear an unfamiliar edge to her own voice, and swallows hard to try and get rid of it. "I'm sure we'll be gettin' in to the Core now and then, and we'll give you a wave –" _

"_We both know that's not going to happen," Inara says sadly, and she takes Kaylee's hand. "Mal's very angry – rightfully so – and he's not one to forgive. He won't be coming anywhere near me. But that's how it should be. He needs his own life, and I'm not part of that. I can never be part of that."_

_Tears sparkle in Inara's eyes, and Kaylee feels her anger melting into pity at the sight, but she shies away from making any promises. She lets Inara hold her hand, but turns her head away without speaking. _

_After a moment, Inara stands up and returns to her packing. Kaylee stays where she is, sitting quietly and taking it all in. The shuttle is so different already; it's starting to look like the other one, dull and dark and empty. The last of her anger fades back to wherever it came from when she realizes that this might be the last hour she ever spends with Inara. _

_It's hard to believe. Can Inara really turn her back on them all and leave like this? It just doesn't make sense. Inara isn't some heartless high-class snob, using people for her own needs and throwing them away. She cares. Kaylee knows that she cares._

"_Inara?" Kaylee asks._

"_Yes?"_

"_You love him?" _

_Inara stops where she is, standing frozen with her hands full of folded clothes. Her expression is odd. For a few seconds, she looks like she's lost, too lost to know what her face is showing. But then she sets the clothes in a case, and when she straightens she's the usual Inara again, smooth and confident, without a single doubt about anything she does. Her eyes meet Kaylee's and don't waver as she answers._

"_I don't. I do care about him, as I do everyone on this ship, but I don't love him. That's why I have to leave. He has to move forward with his life. Without me."_

o-o-o

Kaylee hadn't believed Inara that night, and she didn't believe it now. She knew that Mal and Inara were in love, or they would be, if they weren't both so gorramn mixed-up and stubborn. But Inara must have had a reason to lie, and, no matter how much Kaylee was tempted, it wasn't her business to pry into that. It wasn't her business to try and force Mal's sickness on Inara, neither. All she was like to do was make her friend unhappy, and not help the captain at all.

It was at least the tenth time she'd gone through it and decided that, but she didn't feel any better about it.

She sighed and tipped her head back against the engine room's bulkhead. She was holding a wrench loosely in her right hand, the end of it set on her thigh so it balanced upright. She didn't look down as she let it tip sideways, falling into the palm of her left hand with a solid _thwap. _She'd been doing this for a while, ever since she'd left the unfinished letter in her bunk, hoping that the endless chores of the engine room would clear her mind. But it was so hard to set herself to moving. It was like her body was filled up with hardened ceramic engine parts, too heavy to lift.

Maybe she needed to get sexed. That was one thing that had always put some lightness in her step, a nice long round of physicality. It'd been a long time – how in the verse had she let that come to pass?

There hadn't ever been much chance for trim here on the ship. Not that Jayne hadn't made it clear that he'd be happy to step up for her, but the captain had seen that coming. He'd made an announcement, soon as Jayne came on board, that none of that kind of thing would fly on his ship. Something about unnecessary complications.

Of course, it'd flown with Zoë and Wash, but that was different. Zoë could stand up to the captain when she had a mind to. Her and Mal hadn't had their fights out in the open, but it wasn't hard to see how things went – Zoë had wanted Wash, wanted him bad, and that's how it ended up in the end.

Kaylee'd never wanted Jayne like that; she'd known that much from day one. He was nice enough to look at, in his way, and more then ready to go, but she hadn't even got close to trying him out. She understood the captain's point, and had no need to make a mess in her own home.

Now, Simon was different. He wasn't just a chance for bunk-sport, he was someone she'd want to have next to her for a good long time. She wanted to talk to him – listen and talk and listen some more, until she understood what was going on in his head. He was so different from anyone she'd ever known. She'd met people she liked – plenty of those – but Simon was so… so _shiny_… and not just in how he looked.

Oh sure, at first he'd caught her eye because he was so gorramned pretty. She remembered it as clear as she could see the wench in her hands: a well-dressed young man with round spectacles almost hiding his eyes and not a hair out of place. He'd stuck out of the crowd of Eavesdowne Docks like a big fat strawberry in a bowl of rehydrated protein – the way he'd stood up real straight and talked like words were scarce, so he had to take special care with each one. It'd made her downright nervous, talking to a man like that. No one else had ever made her nervous the way Simon did.

When she found out about River, and what this fancy man of the Core risked for his sister, she only got more interested. There was more to Doctor Tam than how he looked. Only a mighty decent person would do what he'd done.

But still, after all these months, she hadn't ever worked it out. Where exactly was the real Simon under all those big words and fancy habits? Where was the man who'd throw a perfect life away for his sister? Who'd stand up to someone like the captain even though he hadn't a chance of winning in a fight? And why was he all proper manners and nice words even in a dive where nobody cared a bit for it?

_It means everything out here. It's all I have._

Simon'd said that to her once, when she'd asked what was so important about being proper. But she didn't see it that way. Simon had a lot more in him than _proper_, if only he'd let it out. She'd think a man who'd broke all the big rules Simon had would be all right to let down his guard and loosen up a bit. He had to feel safe enough to do that on this ship, after nearly a year here. After everything that had happened.

So why hadn't he ever really relaxed? What was he so afraid of?

"Kaylee?"

She heard her name just as the wrench was making another fall, and she jumped so suddenly that the thing flew out of her hand and all the way across the engine room. It slammed against the far bulkhead, then fell into an access slot in the deck and clattered through the compartment below.

"I'm… sorry," Simon said after the echoing clangs stopped. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Kaylee was sitting up straight, her back and arms tense as she stared after the wrench. With an effort, she forced herself to relax. "No – you didn't… um… I was just thinkin' about… uh…"

She gave up on explaining and clumsily climbed to her feet, then tried her best to give Simon an innocent smile. "Ain't important," she said. "You need somethin'?" Her smile fell when she took a closer look at his face. "What happened to you?"

He lowered his eyes and lifted a self-conscious hand to his lip, which had been split open.

"You gettin' in a fight with the captain again?" she asked.

"No. No! Of course not. It's just…. " He dropped his hand from his face. "I'd really rather not get into it."

"But Simon – why is it you're always gettin' yourself hurt? You're the doctor. You should be fixing folks..."

He smiled at that. "Well, I guess being a doctor out here means more than… being a doctor."

"I guess." She continued to study his face, wondering what in the world he'd gotten into this time, until she noticed how uncomfortable she was making him. He was fidgeting, looking he'd just as soon turn and leave than to have her staring at him.

"So – you wanted somethin'?" she asked.

He shifted his feet and looked down at his hands, which folded together for a second before dropping to his sides. "I just thought that… maybe we should start planning for the hospital tomorrow."

His uneasiness was so obvious that it flustered Kaylee a little. "Hospital?" she asked stupidly.

"Yes…" Simon finally found a place to rest his hands – he tucked them in the back of his belt. He shrugged one shoulder as his mouth pulled into a little grin. "I guess… Jayne was my first choice to operate the holo-imager, but Zoë said he has to do other things."

Kaylee squinted at him, not sure what to think of that.

Simon dropped his hands in front of him again, and his smile disappeared. "That was a joke," he said uncomfortably. "I guess it wasn't very good."

"Oh, no!" Kaylee said, trying to pull her senses together. "That's real funny!" She slapped her hands together and got out a short giggle, and even connected it to a longer laugh. "Jayne runnin' the imager," she said. "That's a good one."

It wasn't her best, but it got a smile out of Simon, and a laugh almost as awkward as hers. Well, maybe a little more awkward.

"So… would you like to come down to the infirmary?" he asked. "I have diagrams there… of the imager. You know – how to run it. And maps."

"Maps?"

"Of the building. You'll have to find your way to the imager room – "

"Oh – right."

"So… we can just go over them. If you want."

Simon was looking down at the deck in a way that took Kaylee right back home, called to mind shy boys asking her to have a walk around Bennet's Pond or maybe go into town to visit the sweet shop…

It was like he was asking her out, she realized. The _on-a-date_ kind of out. It wasn't such a stretch – it would be just the two of them, after all. Sitting in the infirmary, probably close to each other, leaning over the same cortex screen…

"Oh…" she mumbled, and felt herself blush. She looked around the engine room, searching for any excuse to get out of this without even asking herself why. Her eyes settled on a small box holding her latest project. "I'd love to Simon, but I'd best deal with these." She pointed at the box – all the uTex's were there, ready to go. "I was plannin' to catch everyone at lunch so I can hand em out."

"Right," Simon said. "Of course. You should do that." He swallowed hard, his face turning serious. His eyes were down still, so Kaylee felt free to study him. It was something she'd seen before, but she hadn't quite recognized – slowly, the shyness went away. The awkwardness of Simon disappeared as the cool face of Dr. Tam took over.

"After lunch then," he said, his voice firm now. "Or stop by tomorrow morning. It's not very complicated, I'm sure you'll only need a few minutes to work it all out."

He lifted his eyes to her just long enough to nod, then turned and left.

o-o-o

"There's one for each a' ya," Kaylee said as she set the box on an empty corner of the dining room table. "You ought'a decorate it so you know whose is whose. Cap'n didn't pick up no accessories, so you'll have to stick with paint." She looked for Mal so she could grin and let him know she was joking, but he was the only one not at the table.

River jumped up and rummaged through the box. "Glue stick?" she asked as she found the device marked with her name on a strip of tape.

"Pardon?" Kaylee asked.

"Glue stick and beads," River said, but then she denied her own request before Kaylee could do it. "No – we don't have beads. Glue stick and resistors. 66 megaOhms would be bad." River stared into the empty air with her mouth open as she worked out the resistor color bands, then she smiled. "230 kiloOhms. Fire and sunshine."

Kaylee had an idea of what River meant, but she doubted anyone else except Wash did, so she left it alone. She shuffled through the box, going about handing the things out.

"Simon," she said, but she set his uTex on the table and slid it towards him instead of handing it to him. He looked at it only briefly before tucking it into a pocket on his vest.

Book was sitting within reach, so Kaylee dug out his uTex next. The preacher turned it in his hands, studying it curiously.

"And what exactly are we supposed to do with these?" he asked.

"I got em all set up so we can talk to each other whenever we want," Kaylee explained. "They got better transmission distances than the mics we usually use, cause the network's everywhere."

"Yay!" Wash smiled like a kid as he grabbed his new toy. "Hours of fun and games! You say it projects vid?"

"You can nab what you want from the cortex," Kaylee told him.

"If you plan on doin' that, you need a credit account to pay for it," Zoë said as she took hers. "And that ain't such a good idea. We don't want anyone keepin' track of us with these. Speakin' of that…" She gave Kaylee a questioning look.

"Won't happen," Kaylee replied. "River took care of it."

Simon looked up in alarm. "River?"

"Cut out eyes," River said proudly.

"Eyes, huh?" Zoë asked.

Kaylee nodded. "Guess they had some trackin' devices in these." She got to Jayne next, who took his toy with a sneer.

"Got no use for this gōushī," the merc mumbled.

Wash was also looking at his uTex doubtfully. "Tracking devices?" he asked.

"It's okay," Kaylee told him as she set down the box. "I went through the system, just about reprogrammed 'em, top to bottom. Ain't nothing gonna give us away."

"That's good," Wash said. "Because the only kind of video I'll be recording on this is intended for private use only." He raised his eyebrows at Zoë suggestively.

"Oh?" Zoë asked. "Dinosaur escapades?"

Wash looked thoughtful. "I guess.. there could be dinosaurs involved. That's not my personal kink, but if you're into it, um…"

"Kink?" Jayne asked, and he looked at his uTex with a new level of respect.

"The captain comin'?" Kaylee asked Zoë.

"Havin' a nap," Zoë said shortly. Her tone made it clear that she didn't mean to talk about the captain any more. That put a damper on everyone's moods, and lunch broke up soon after.

Kaylee stayed at the table, staring into the box. There were two of the high tech toys left – one for Mal, and one that wasn't ever likely to reach the woman it was meant for.

"I'll take Mal's," River said, and before Kaylee could figure what the girl meant, River'd grabbed one of the things and started toward the crew quarters.

"River – don't bug him!" Kaylee called, getting up to follow.

"Having bad dreams anyway," River insisted, and she hit a button on the control panel, opening the door to Mal's bunk.

"No, River!" Kaylee said, trying to whisper. "Let him sleep!" She hit the button again to close the door.

"But I want to give him the uTex," River said. "He'll be happy to see how I fixed it, made it safe."

"He'll be happier to rest," Kaylee said. She tried to pull River back into the dining room, but the girl resisted. She made a little wordless whine and stared at the closed door that separated them from Mal.

"But…" River started. She didn't finish.

"Oh, honey," Kaylee said. "I know you're worried. We all are, but we can't do nothin' to help. You heard what Simon said – we got to leave the captain be. Now, hand it over and come on back in here."

Kaylee held her hand out, and, after one short defiant look, River shrugged and gave up. Kaylee put her arm around the girl and led her back into the dining room, settling them in the alcove. She meant to get River talking about the captain; it had to be hard for the girl to be losing the man she must see as her protector, maybe even a replacement for the father who'd let her down. Kaylee understood the feeling a little – her own Pa was a wonderful man, but she didn't have him here. Mal filled that need, no matter that he was snippy sometimes.

But River got the talk started first, choosing a subject that Kaylee didn't care for. "Why aren't you with Simon?" the girl asked suddenly.

"With… Simon?"

River folded her legs up in front of her. "He wants you, you want him. Problem?"

Kaylee opened her mouth, then shut it again. This mind-reading thing was the _real_ problem. She hadn't minded so much a few weeks ago, but now there were things she wanted to keep to herself. "River, I think that maybe you shouldn't be takin' advantage of certain skills you got."

River rolled her eyes. "Don't need to _read_. Obvious."

Kaylee shook her head; she wasn't going to get into all this. "Just cause you see something tween two people, don't mean you know all about it."

"That's what I mean – I _don't_ understand. Why does it have to be so complicated? Why can't you just want someone and have them?" River looked down at her toes, pinching and rolling them between her fingers. "Well, unless one person was sick. Wasn't able to see…"

She lifted her eyes to Kaylee, peering through the hair that had fallen over her forehead.

Kaylee blew out her breath, trying to work out an explanation for something she didn't understand herself. "Sometimes it's simple," she said. "Sometimes all you want is a tumble, and that's just fine. But sometimes there's more to it. You can't just bump and go on your way – you got to be around a person, all the time. If you want to stay friends, you got to be able to be friendly."

Kaylee stopped and thought about it – was that really what was bugging her about Simon? If they had some sexin', and then were on the same boat together, day after day, she'd be spending lots of time with him. That's what she wanted, after all.

But then he'd see. The _angry_ in her would come out, sooner or later. She might even hurt him, might say something awful that he didn't deserve, like she'd almost done to Inara that night. Simon would see all the ugly she had inside, and he wouldn't want to be with her anymore. Kaylee wouldn't want to be in her own skin, if she went and did any more harm to Simon.

"Maybe it's too complicated, waiting for someone else," River mumbled with a shake of her head. "I'm tired of it." She stood up and stared down at Kaylee. "I'll be in my bunk," she announced dramatically. She paused for a long second like she expected some kind of reaction, then shrugged and went on her way.

o-o-o

The afternoon dragged slow. Kaylee went down to the cargo bay and tried to put in some work on the mule, but she still couldn't settle in and focus. She kept looking toward the aft hatch, thinking that Simon would come out and invite her into the infirmary again.

He never did.

She hadn't ever had lunch, only met the crew at the end of the meal. After a few hours went by, her stomach begun to grumble, so she gave up and went to grab a snack.

She was just finishing in the galley when the captain came in from his bunk. He gave her a bleary nod, then fumbled with the kettle. He set it on the burner and stood staring at it like he didn't know what to do next.

Kaylee couldn't watch him acting like that. "Why don't you sit, cap'n?" she told him. "I'll was just fixin' to make tea, I'll get you some."

She half expected him to protest, but he looked at her dumbly for a long second, then nodded. "Thanks," he mumbled.

She nodded back and watched him take his seat at the table. He rubbed a hand through his mussed hair, but otherwise stared straight ahead. He looked near asleep still, so Kaylee let him be while she waited for the water to heat. She hadn't talked to the captain in days, not more than a few passing words, anyway. It'd probably be best to keep it that way, she told herself. Make him his tea and go away.

She reconsidered as she watched him, seeing how lost and befuddled he looked. She'd hate to leave him alone like that. And another thing came into her mind – her letter, the one she'd left unfinished. Should she ask Inara to meet them on Londinium? The Companion always had been able to see into the captain better than anyone else. And maybe those two had fought a lot, but that's because there'd always been something between them.

Inara just might be able to help, maybe even better than Simon could. She was a special lady; Kaylee'd known that from the moment she met her.

o-o-o

A year and a half ago

_Ever since the captain shared the news, Kaylee's been walking a half meter off the deck. _

_Just to think – a Companion on the ship. A real Companion! A woman who's been all over, to the nice places that Kaylee isn't likely to ever see. A Companion knows all kinds of famous people and can tell stories about fancy clothes and great food and parties and sex the way it's done in important places. _

_Eagerly, Kaylee waits on the stairs leading from the catwalk up toward the dining room, watching the open airlock doors below. The Companion – Miss Serra – will be here any minute. Workers are already piling her baggage in the cargo bay. There's a whole lot of it._

_Kaylee isn't disappointed when Miss Serra finally appears. She's a fine lady, pretty as can be and wearing a dress of shiny red and gold fabric that flows from her shoulders. She holds herself straight and graceful, like a statue of a goddess come to life. _

_More workers come in with her, and she speaks to them softly, a kind smile on her face. They pick up a few boxes and she directs them up the stairs toward Shuttle One, following behind. As they approach, Kaylee stands up, meaning to do her greetings, but the captain beats her to it._

"_Welcome, Ambassador," he calls out from the infirmary hatch below._

"_Thank you, Captain," Miss Serra replies, and her voice is soft and silky enough to fit how she looks. She pauses halfway up the stairs to let the captain catch up. "However, 'Ambassador' isn't my title. 'Inara' will do, or 'Miss Serra' if you prefer."_

_The captain shrugs off the suggestion. "You're an ambassador now. Only reason I took you onto my boat is for that respectability thing you're so full of."_

_Kaylee's mouth drops open – the captain may not be a man of sweet, soft words, but right now he's being downright rude. She backs up the stairs into the shadows as she looks closer at the Companion, wondering if the woman's done something to deserve the treatment. _

"_I'm also well versed in manners," Miss Serra says, putting just a bit of stress on the last word._

"_Ain't so interested in those," Mal says._

"_Indeed," the woman replies with a meaningful cut of her eyes. _

_The captain shifts his feet; he looks like a little boy who just got slapped on the hand for talking with too much sass. It almost makes Kaylee laugh; she's all kinds of fond of the captain, but he sure can talk rough sometimes. He doesn't so often get schooled on it, and never in such a neat way as this woman just did it._

_Mal recovers enough to give the growing pile of boxes in the bay a disapproving glance. "I see you brought a few things," he says. _

_Clearly, Miss Serra isn't about to apologize. She shrugs. "The shuttle needs a great deal of… I guess enhancement would be a close enough word… to bring it up to Guild standards." _

_Kaylee frowns self-consciously. She's been working on the shuttle for more than a month, getting it ready for the renter. And maybe it isn't all fancy, but it works pretty gorramn good. It'd taken a lot of care to get it that way. _

"_Guild standards?" Mal asks. "You mean you need somethin' besides a bed for what you do?"_

_Miss Serra's voice is noticeably colder when she replies. "Your experience must be limited, if you think that's all I require." She's right below Kaylee on the catwalk when she looks back at the captain. Her eyes flicker over him as if she's sizing him up, then her mouth curves in a pitying smile. "Mmm. A shame. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of… equipment to set up."_

"_Equipment… ?" Mal repeats as he watches the Companion disappear into her shuttle. His face shows a kind of fascinated curiosity, but then shifts to something different, like he's mad at himself for being curious. Eventually, he blows out all his breath and leaves with a shake of his head. _

_This time, Kaylee has to put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh; she's not quite sure if she likes Miss Serra, but having the woman onboard is like to make things much more lively. Once the captain disappears belowdecks, Kaylee comes down to the catwalk – no use waiting to say her hellos to the newest member of the crew. _

_Miss Serra is opening one of the two boxes in the otherwise empty shuttle when Kaylee leans in. The woman looks up right away, a smile on her face. Not an easy, open smile, more of something you'd see in a pretty drawing, like it's been practiced in front of a mirror for a long, long time. _

"_Can I help you?" Miss Serra asks._

_Kaylee steps in and holds her right hand out, smiling brightly. "Hi! I'm Kaylee. Kaywinnet Lee Frye. I'm the ship's mechanic." She looks down and sees a big smear of grease across her fingers. "Oh, hang on," she says with a bigger smile, and she wipes her hand on her trousers before she offers it again. _

"_Inara Serra," the Companion replies, and she stands and shakes Kaylee's hand warmly, not seeming bothered by any remnants of the grease. Her smile is better now, too. More real. "Please, come in."_

"_I don't wanna get in the way, Miss Serra, if you're busy…"_

"_Not at all! And call me Inara, it's much cozier." The Companion looks around the space once, as if she'll suddenly find a seat to offer. "I wish I could serve you some tea," she says, "but I have nothing set up yet."_

_Kaylee steps further in and looks around – the shuttle does seem kind of shabby when you see it next to a woman so pretty, and a dress like that. "I'm sorry 'bout the shuttle," Kaylee says. "I did what I could. If I'd a'known what you needed, I could'a maybe done more – "_

"_Oh, no – you heard what I said? Please, I didn't mean it. I find your captain has a way of… getting under my skin, and the words just come out. The shuttle is perfect. I'm sure I'll be very happy here."_

_Kaylee smiles at that, relieved. She knows how the captain can be. "Don't you worry about him," she says. "He's really as nice as they come. Just you wait till you get to know him better."_

_One of Inara's eyebrows shoots up, her face a perfect expression of doubt. "Really?"_

"_Yeah," Kaylee says. "He's just like a little puppy dog."_

o-o-o

Kaylee poured two cups of tea and carried them to the table. She could do this, if she was real careful. She wouldn't talk about Inara, just chat a bit and suss the captain's mood.

"I hope River didn't wake you up," she said as she took a seat next to him.

"Didn't hear a thing," he said, staring straight ahead, his face still slack and empty. "I think," he added.

"You feelin' all right?" she asked.

He frowned like he wasn't sure if she was serious. "Don't I look all right?"

"To tell the truth, you ain't lookin' so… hale."

Mal's face stayed dull a few more seconds, and she wasn't sure if he even understood what she'd said. Then he dropped his head and laughed. It was a quiet laugh, without voice, like he was too tired to make a noise.

"Ah, hell. Bless you, Kaylee, you do have a way with words. Not lookin' _hale_. No, I suppose I'm not lookin' hale." He laughed again, in a way that made Kaylee sad more than anything.

"Captain," she said. "Is there anything I can do…?"

He straightened his face and looked at her. "Bout what?"

"You just… I thought... maybe you're lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Yeah." Kaylee took a deep breath, then took the plunge. "Maybe it ain't my business, but everybody needs lovin'. Maybe you do too."

Mal was giving her a frozen look, but Kaylee forged on. She'd surely gone beyond the limits already – but what was the danger? If Mal got mad, it'd only last a day, then he'd forget.

"I was thinkin'… you ain't been sleeping so good, and it always helps _me_ if I got someone around. You know?"

"Kaylee, what exactly are you saying?"

"I'm just wandering if there's any special lady…" Kaylee bit her lip; she couldn't finish. She wasn't going to say any more than that, if he didn't pick up on the hint, that was enough.

Mal cleared his throat and looked away, then sat up straighter. He finally noticed the tea she'd brought him and took ahold of it, like he needed something for his hands to do. Kaylee leaned toward him, hopeful that he was about to say something about Inara.

"Kaylee," he finally said, glancing at her once then looking away. He seemed real uncomfortable. "Don't take this wrong. I think the world a' you – but I ain't interested in _that_ way."

Kaylee's mouth dropped open, and her cheeks blazed as she realized how her words must have sounded to him. "That ain't what I meant! I was just… I was talkin' about maybe some woman you might a' known. Maybe someone you miss. Not me!"

Mal continued to frown at her for a second, then he snickered. "You must be talkin' about the redhead in my bunk."

"In your… Saffron? You mean Saffron?"

The captain gave her a piercing look. "Saffron… _that_ was her name. My wife. Wife – can you believe that?" He shook his head, but his face broke into a smile. "Now, how'd I go and get myself a wife?" he mumbled.

Kaylee hardly heard that last part. "How could you even be thinking of her!" she demanded. "That mean ole sāobī... "

Mal looked offended by that. "Now - hold on! Just cause she knows nothin' about the verse don't mean you need to start calling her names. Where'd she get to, anyhow?" He looked around, like he expected to see the woman passing by.

A prickly voice in Kaylee's mind told her that she needed to stop and think about this, that there was a very good reason the captain was acting as he did, but something in her had snapped. The captain still recalled a woman who'd tried to sucker him twice, and yet had no notion of the woman he really could have loved….

"That's exactly your problem," she said. "You had something good and important right in front a' you, and you just went and ignored it! You waited too long, and you lost it, and it's no one's fault but your own!"

The captain was staring at her open-mouthed, looking just as surprised as she was about the words coming out of her mouth.

"Maybe..." she went on, unable to stop herself, "maybe if you hadn't been so gorramned yellow-bellied, you'd a taken a chance sooner, told her what you really thought, instead a waitin' till it was too late..."

"Kaylee, what the hell are you goin' off on me about?"

Kaylee felt tears blinding her eyes, but she didn't let up. "Maybe you need to be settin' a better example, Captain. Maybe other folks on this ship would be better at certain things if you..." She stopped then, realizing too late that it wasn't Mal making her so mad, and it wasn't Mal and Inara she was yelling about.

The captain had figured that much out for himself, too. "My relations ain't any of your business, Kaylee," he said as he stood up. "And don't be blaming me if you can't work things out with that prissy, uptight doctor. I warned you not to start with him."

He turned away like he was meaning to leave. Kaylee realized that her mouth had dropped open, and she snapped it shut. The anger took her again, rising so fast and hot that she didn't have a minute to think on what it was telling her to say. The words just came out.

"You can't talk like that to me!" she snapped. "Just cause you're crazy, don't mean you can say stuff like that!"

Mal turned back to the table, his eyes suddenly bright and keen. "Crazy? You callin' me crazy?."

He took a few steps back toward her, and Kaylee realized what she'd just said. Too late, her mind broke through the cloud of oily black rage.

"I… I didn't mean that," she said.

"Yes, you did." He came back to stand over her. "And you'd best explain exactly why you're saying it."

Kaylee leaned away, then tried to squirm out of her chair. "I ain't explainin' nothing. I'll get Zoë –"

Mal grabbed her wrist. "No, you're gonna tell me… " He fixed his eyes on her, and what Kaylee saw in his face wasn't quite anger; it wasn't hurt either. It was fear. But stronger than the fear was a hard determination to get the truth from her.

She couldn't look away. "Just… don't worry, Cap'n. Zoë and Simon are takin' care of it. They got it all under control."

"They got what, exactly, under control?"

He was still looking at her hard, his hold on her arm tight. Truthfully, Kaylee'd held the captain dear since the day she'd laid eyes on him, but right now he scared her. She didn't know what to do, she only knew that the best man she'd ever known was breaking apart so bad that he wasn't himself. He was further from Malcolm Reynolds than she was from Kaywinnet Lee Frye.

She wanted them back. She wanted herself the way she used to be, with this nasty bitterness inside her torn out and gone forever. She wanted Inara back on the ship and the captain his old self, and she wanted a chance to do everything right with Simon.

"Kaylee," Mal said, a plea in his eyes. "Tell me."

She couldn't say no to that. "You're sick, captain. This ain't you. You're sick in your mind."

His hold on her wrist loosened, but he didn't let go. Nor did he tell her that she was wrong about that. He only let out a deep breath, like he'd already suspected what she told him.

"But Simon's gonna help you," she added, trying to comfort him. "Simon and Zoë are gonna find out what's wrong, and fix you up."

"What are they plannin'?" he asked.

"A scan. They're gonna get one of those fancy 3-D holo-images of your head. It'll show whatever it is that's making you forget everything. They'll fix it, I know they will. Simon's the best doctor..."

She stopped when Mal pulled back from her, finally letting go of her arm. He didn't say anything, but he lifted his hand to the back of his neck suddenly. His face tightened for a second and he took in a sharp breath, like he was hurting, but then Kaylee saw his eyes start to blaze.

She got out of her chair and backed up a step, half fearful, but he wasn't fuming at her.

"Zoë!" he suddenly called out, and he headed toward the crew quarters. "Zoë, you get out here!"

Kaylee stood where she was, frozen, as the captain took his anger into the fore corridor. She'd made a mess of it now, so bad that she couldn't hardly take it in. Voices floated down from the bridge, hard accusations from the captain and confused, defensive tones from Zoë.

Then footsteps approached, the argument growing closer, and Kaylee turned and fled.

She should have gone and hid; after all she'd done that day she should have found a dark corner to stay in till the storm cleared and she could sneak into her bunk. But her feet had other plans – they carried her straight down to the infirmary.

Simon was there; he looked up as soon as she stopped in the hatch. He must have seen that she wasn't all right, must have noticed how her breath was coming quick and her eyes were wet and her face was heated. But he didn't say anything, just waited for her to speak.

"I'm ready," she said.

"Ready?"

Kaylee had to think about that, about what she really meant. She knew what she wished she was ready for, but that was a long ways away. Just being here was a big enough step to take.

"Ready... to read up," she said, making her voice calm. "Can you show me the stuff about the hospital?"

Simon studied her for only a brief second before he replied, "Of course," his words neat in his doctor way. He turned to pick up a stacks of charts from the counter, and Kaylee stepped into the infirmary.

Something about the stillness of the little room brought her another brief thought of home; it was like walking into the town's chapel at the height of the Saturday night town's fair, leaving all the noise and heat of the crowd outside. It wasn't a feeling she'd ever welcomed before, but now the peace soothed her overwhelmed senses.

She didn't want to go back to the fuss. She didn't want to think about any of it at all.

"Maybe..." she said hesitantly. "Can we... can we do it later? Do you think it'd be OK if we didn't talk about anything serious right now?"

Simon turned back to her, looking surprised and more than a little curious. She expected him to ask her about it, to make her explain what had her running down here and stammering at him like a little girl. But, to her relief, he smiled and set down the charts, then pulled his uTex out of his pocket.

"I have a few vids," he said. "After lunch I did some searching... Since I can't pay, I could only get old ones that are available for free, but there's a few classics..." He paused, and when she had nothing to say, he mumbled on. "There's this one that I thought was the funniest thing, the first time I saw it in boarding school. Of course, it'll probably seem incredibly stupid now, but–"

"A movie?" Kaylee asked, interrupting him when she finally found her voice. "You wanna watch a movie with me?"

He shrugged. "We can project it." He walked to the hatch, standing right beside her as he pointed to the large blank wall to the left of the common room. "The sound won't be the best, but..."

Kaylee looked up at him. "That's perfect, Simon." If she'd trusted herself more, she might have taken his hand. Might have even kissed him on the cheek, but that would risk going someplace serious again. Right now, it was plenty enough just to sit beside him for a few quiet, calm hours, and get caught up in a silly vid. It was exactly what she needed.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it right from her heart. "That's real nice. I guess I ... " She felt like she needed to apologize for something, but she didn't know how or where to start.

She didn't need to. Simon grinned and held up the uTex. "Come on, let's see if this thing's worth the hype."

Kaylee grinned back, then joined him in rearranging the furniture into their own little cinema.

o-o-o

Translations  
yăo xī gài de rén: knee-biter  
gōu shī : crap  
sāobī: bitch


	8. Chapter 8 of 14: Wash

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Wash**

_The background murmur of lilting music, shuffling feet, and tasteful, polite laughter falls to a sudden silence when Mal punches Atherton Wing._

"_I guess this is my kind of party!" Mal says joyfully, but the dark brown eyes he looks into are so familiar and so unknown that he's startled right out of his festive mood. _

_And, apparently, out of the party. _

_He finds himself sitting at a rough wooden table across from Badger. Jayne is next to him, wearing a cowboy hat and stuffing his face with little cakes. _

"_Hurt our feelings," Jayne says to Badger, then he slurps his tea/wood alcohol._

"_You recall why that took place?" Mal asks, slipping into the talk as if he's been a part of it all along. But his mind is working; he's crunching away on something that doesn't sit right. How exactly had he got here from the party? _

_Hang on – had that party even happened yet? Wasn't that the whole reason he was here jawing with Badger? To find out about it?_

"_I had a problem with your attitude, is why," Badger says. "Felt you was… what's the word…?"_

"_Pretentious?" Jayne offers, but Mal's too busy to be properly annoyed. He squints up at the slatted ceiling, at the hazy sunlight that's pouring into the otherwise gloomy little den. The light is bright, shining a diffuse golden-white. _

"_Exactly," Badger continues. "You think you're better'n people."_

_Mal opens his mouth, but he doesn't speak. The light reminds him of something. The hazy light, the sudden change of venue… these are familiar to him…_

"_Mal," Jayne whispers hoarsely. "You payin' attention?"_

_Mal lowers his eyes to the merc, but still doesn't answer. He's trying to recall… a place where impossible things can happen, where time can run backwards or sideways or any damn way it pleases and he might blink and find himself in a whole new situation without a bit of warning._

_Jayne whispers slow and clear, like he's giving Mal a cue. "You're supposed to say – 'Only the people I'm better than.'"_

_Mal continues to stare at Jayne blankly, then looks toward Badger. The little man shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively. "S'no use," he mutters. "Gorramn fool's got no idea what's 'appening. Head alfway up his ass."_

"_I think he knows," Jayne says, then he leans closer to Mal, his face serious. "Don'cha, Cap'n? You know exactly what's goin' on."_

_Mal looks up at the light again , then it comes to him. He slaps his palm against the table and stands up suddenly, knocking his chair back. "You ain't real!" he says. "Neither a' you. I'm dreamin' again!"_

_Jayne leans back and grins. "You're gettin' better at this."_

_Badger is looking happy too, but his smile is aimed at two crystal clear multi-faceted gems that fill the grimy palm of his hand. "Diamonds the size a' testicles," he proudly proclaims. _

_Mal glares at him, then figures: what the hell good is a waking dream if you don't have fun with it? He draws and shoots Badger square in the forehead. _

_Jayne nabs the diamonds before the corpse that used to be Badger can drop them. "Eat em to make you horny," the merc says to himself, the sparkle in his eye bright enough to match that of the jewels. He tests one of the stones between his back teeth, then looks up at Mal._

"_Time to get up," he says, but the voice coming out his mouth isn't his. It's Zoë's, and sounds tinny and electronic. Jayne doesn't seem to notice the problem; he keeps talking with the wrong voice._

"_We got a job to do, sir. Are you awake?"_

Mal rolled onto his stomach, then crawled halfway up his bunk so he could reach the comm panel.

"I am," he replied. "Be right up."

He immediately tunneled back under the blanket, wanting to return to a dream that he couldn't quite capture but he knew had been entertaining. All he could dredge up were disconnected flashes: sharp swords, frilly dresses, wood alcohol spiked tea, huge diamonds, dead Badger. He couldn't make sense of it, except to figure that he was still nettled with Badger over those marked foodstuffs he'd been stuck with a while back.

After a few minutes, he gave up and threw the covers aside, hurrying to dress in the chill air. He had goods to deliver on Persephone today. Maybe he'd take the crew along so they could do some shopping. And – he reminded himself – he should try to avoid running into Badger, lest that shooting part of his dream come true. He didn't need to put himself and his crew on the run.

It was best to drop off the cargo quick and be gone. No time to kiss the dirt.

o-o-o

Wash crouched beside a closed cabinet in the pantry. He'd tried opening it a few times, only to have it snatched away from him by a small hand that held a tight grip on the inside latch. Normally, he'd be fine to leave a drawer monster in its lair, but he needed something from the cabinet, and he needed it now. He tried again, slipping a hand around the edge of the door to try and pry it open, but sharp little nails pinched his fingertips and he pulled his hand back with a yelp.

"Go away!" River's muffled voice demanded.

Wash sighed and settled onto his rear. This really wasn't his thing, trying to reason with River when she was in one of her moods, but everyone else was busy. Simon and Kaylee were plotting the hospital visit, and Zoë was with Mal, explaining – as she often did these days – how today was going to be very much different from what he'd woken up expecting. Jayne, of course, wouldn't react kindly to River getting in the way of business, and was likely to deal with it with a heavier hand than Wash would like. Book might have been helpful, but the Shepherd hadn't been around this morning. Maybe he was trying to avoid involvement in the day's criminal activities.

All of which meant that Wash was the only one left to calm the beast. Force wasn't working – maybe reason.

"River, honey, why have you taken over the cupboard?"

"Hiding."

"That only works if you have someone to seek, and I don't see anyone –"

"Don't want to be found."

"Huh. OK, I promise that I'm not trying to find you and I won't tell. But I really need to get in there."

She didn't answer. He sighed heavily, then decided on a different tactic. "Can I tempt you with a bribe?"

There was a moment of quiet, then a word of interest. "Bribe?"

"Um… dinosaurs. Hours of fun, and I don't share them with just anyone."

The reply was dismissive. "For intellectual juveniles. _I'm_ a grown-up."

Though she couldn't see him, Wash made a face in response. "Look, River, I really have to get those clothes. The captain, Zoë and Kaylee need to be dressed up, or they won't make it into the hospital without being noticed. Do you want them to get arrested?"

She didn't answer, and Wash began (to his shame) to consider fetching Jayne to muscle his way in. But then the door opened a crack. Pieces of dark blue clothing squeezed out, one by one, and Wash gathered them up. He held the medic uniforms in his arms, ready to go on with the day's business now, but some bit of concern for River made him hesitate.

"So," he asked, "is there any particular reason you don't want to be found?"

Her reply was hushed. "Giving them space to set up."

"Set up what?"

"Party," she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

"Party? Oh yeah, I heard about that. Guess the surprise is out."

River made a dismissive _pff_ sound. "Can't surprise _me_. I know everything."

Wash shook his head. The day ahead was full; maybe no one had explained to River exactly how full. He didn't want to see her disappointed. If things went bad – as tended to happen – he didn't want the poor girl hiding in the cabinet all day and night, waiting for a party that never got started.

"River? You should be prepared. With all that's going on today, the festivities may get delayed."

There was a pause while she thought about it. "Delayed?" she asked, a little worry in her voice.

"It's very possible we'll be busy running for our lives."

The cabinet door slowly pushed open. Not a lot, but enough that he could tilt his head and see two eyes glinting in the dim light.

"But don't worry," he added. "Belated birthdays are much better. Everyone feels so guilty that the gifts are _fantastic_."

She replied with a little smile. Funny how drawing that teeny bit of a happy out of her gave him such a warm fuzzy feeling. It made him want to do more.

"Why don't you come out? It's not everyday you get to see Mal playing dress-up." He held up one of the medic suits as a temptation, but his attempt went wide of the mark. Her smile fell at the mention of the captain.

"No," she replied, then ran a hand against the side panel of her small enclosure. "Maybe later. Dark is cozy."

She did look cozy in there, nested in a pile of towels and cast off clothing, like a cat in its favorite napping spot.

"So you want this closed?" he asked, one hand on the door.

"Yes. Thank you."

Wash wanted to give Zoë as much time as possible with Mal, so he took the medic suit that he'd worn on Ariel and left the others on the dining room table. Zoë and Mal had suits already fitted to them; Kaylee would have to do with the one he'd worn himself. It would fit better than Jayne's, anyway.

He found the mechanic seated at a stool next to Simon in the infirmary, both of them intently studying a diagram on the cortex screen. Wash sighed – their stools were slid apart, keeping a careful space between them, as if they were afraid to touch. But they were in the same room together, and that was something.

Simon lifted his head when he noticed Wash. "How is Mal doing?" he asked, getting to business without even a hello.

"I'm not sure," Wash replied. "I'm staying out of that part." He plopped the EMT suit onto the counter next to Kaylee.

"Does he remember anythin'?" she asked, worry in her eyes. "Is he still mad at me?"

"You're clear," Wash said. "We all are."

Kaylee sighed in relief, and he shared the feeling – Mal had been an ugly mood last night when he'd found out about the plan with the imager. The only way Zoë'd got him to cool down was to promise that it wouldn't happen, that they'd talk about it more and come up with a new plan in the morning. It hadn't been such an honest thing to pull, given that Mal wasn't likely to remember any of it after he slept, but what else could she have done?

And her ploy had worked; Mal'd woken up without a clue.

"You ready to go?" Wash asked, looking at the diagram they'd been studying. It was a building map – the hospital.

"Just about," Kaylee said. Her eyes passed over Simon with a friendly warmth before she looked at Wash. "I just wanna go over the imager controls one more time," she added, "then I'll suit up."

Wash was cheered by that – despite the way these two were keeping themselves at a distance, something had changed between them.

Simon also looked like his mood had lifted; he smiled at Kaylee. "We've gone over everything plenty of times," he told her. "You're going to do fine. And I'll be on the line if you need any help with the imager."

Kaylee nodded and smiled, but didn't make any reply. They were like a couple of shyly flirting teenagers, Wash thought, and he was about to leave them to it when he remembered River. "One more thing, Doc," he said. "Thought you might like to know – your sister has moved into the pantry."

"The pantry?" Simon asked.

"She wants to make sure you'll have all the privacy you need to set up her birthday party."

A fond smile warmed Simon's face. "That's thoughtful of her."

"Are you sure you're going to be able to pull that off today?" Wash asked. "Because she's sounding pretty expectant."

Simon shrugged, but then he grinned like he was fairly pleased with himself. "I stocked up on everything I needed some time ago. I figured there was a good chance we'd be up to our noses in crime and mortal danger when the day came."

"Just keep in mind that we may be leaving in a hurry," Wash said as he stepped out the hatch, "with a fanfare of projectiles and bad guys on our tail."

Simon looked thoughtful, but Wash didn't wait around for a reply. He jogged up the stairs, though he wasn't looking forward to seeing how things were going with Zoë and Mal.

The captain had come out of his bunk an hour ago talking about making a quick drop on Persephone. What had followed was fast becoming Zoë's daily routine: first, with carefully worded questions, she worked out Mal's idea of where and when he was. Then she came up with a compelling reason that the plans for the day had changed, and did her best to convince Mal of it.

This time, Zoë had been prepared in advance; she and Wash had come up with a story last night. Apparently, Bernoulli – who'd got them the job on Canton and had always been a steady contact – had waved sometime in the night with a cherry of a job they couldn't pass by. Some data needed to be retrieved from a hospital's computer. Nothing secret, so security around it was minimum. Mal, Kaylee, and Zoë would go after it, wearing medic suits that Simon had acquired overnight. (Their fingers were crossed that Mal wouldn't ask too much about that last part.)

As for how Zoë would deal with Mal's obvious dislike of the holo-imager… that was still a mystery. But it was Zoë's problem to solve; Wash had his own duties today.

He grabbed the two remaining suits from the table and climbed the stairs leading up to the bridge, where Zoë'd taken Mal for privacy. He paused outside the hatch when he heard Zoë's voice; she was making an argument that was, by now, familiar.

"Captain, sometimes plans need to change. This new job is real easy. We got suits to wear, so no one'll even look at us. Simon knows everything about the place, he's settin' Kaylee up right now."

"But why didn't you tell me up when the wave came in?" Mal asked. "You know I handle the business."

"You'd gone to bed already. Anyway, I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course I mind," Mal said, saying each word slow and clear. He was sounding deeply annoyed, his _don't mess with me, I'm the captain_ attitude coming on thick. "Call Bernoulli right back and tell him we need more notice."

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"He's… out of reach for the rest of the day."

Mal snorted. "Out of reach? He gave us a job and disappeared, and you don't see a problem?"

Wash leaned against the edge of the hatchway, careful to stay out of sight. There was no way he'd walk in on this before Zoë settled it, but now that he'd heard this much, curiosity wouldn't allow him to slink away. Besides, listening in was the only way he'd find out what was happening between his wife and Mal these days. Zoë never talked about it, not in any real detail.

_And I'm just silly enough to think it's my business,_ he thought to himself bitterly.

"Captain," Zoë said, her voice tired. "We never had any problem with Bernoulli before. This job is safe, but I don't have time to go over every bit of it right now. Could you please, just this once, trust me?"

Wash thought that might be it, but after a long silence, Mal spoke again, his voice sounding just as tired as Zoë's.

"Zoë, you know I trust you… Look, I ain't never had to talk to you bout this, because there never was need. We've always had a system. You and me – we worked it out pretty early on that I do things my own way. Now… I ain't ever closed my ears to you when you had something to say, but I thought you understood. There's gotta be one person in charge, and that's me. You made that choice yourself, long time ago."

Zoë's voice was strong, but it was the kind of firmness that spoke of desperation, like she had to get this settled and was ready to fight dirty. "Captain, maybe… maybe I got second thoughts. Maybe I wanna arrange something myself, from time to time."

Wash expected some sort of explosion from Mal, a stern lecture on who was in charge, but all he heard was the pilot's chair creak as someone sat down heavily. It had to be Mal – the captain's voice was diminished when he replied.

"That may be. But it's still my ship. I can't have somebody changing plans behind my back, without even talking to me. Not even you."

"It don't matter," Zoë said, her voice hard. "I said we'd do this. We don't pull it off, we'll have some powerful folk asking why not. You got no choice but to go along."

Wash let out his held breath, trying to do it quietly. Since the day he'd walked on to this ship, he'd never expected to hear Zoë pulling one over on Mal like that. She'd always walked soft around him, even in things that shouldn't have been any of Mal's business.

o-o-o

Four years ago

_Wash acts as post-coital mattress for as long as he can. With Zoë, that's not very long. She's a solid woman, and it's difficult to catch his breath with her sprawled on top of him. _

_They're in her bunk. That's gotten to be a habit; he's here so often that his own bunk is pretty much bare while Zoë's is overflowing with the belongings of two people. Her narrow cot is overfull as well._

"_Do you think we could get a bigger bed in here?" he asks as he slides sideways, letting Zoë's now pliant body settle into what space opens beside him. She replies only with a sated grumble. _

"_Even better," he continues, "why don't I just move the last of my stuff over? I live here anyway, let's just admit it."_

_That's enough to rouse her. She lifts her head and blinks at him a few times, as if trying to work out if he's serious. _

"_Captain don't exactly approve of all this," she says._

"_Now that you mention it," Wash replies with as much irony as he pack into his voice. "I may have picked up on that. Wasn't easy – Mal's such a subtle guy." _

_Zoë sighs. She never does go for any jibe on Mal; it's the one sticking point in an otherwise flawless affair._

"_Can't we enjoy this without complicatin' it?" she asks, and tries to turn onto her back. She can only manage it by nearly pushing Wash over the edge of the cot, so he props himself up on his elbow to hover partly over her._

"_It wouldn't be a complication," he says. "It'd be a lot simpler."_

_Zoë keeps her eyes closed, as if her sleepiness will end the discussion. "I don't want to shove this in his face. He has enough to worry on."_

"_And we don't? We're grown-ups, Zoë. We can leave the same bunk and walk in on breakfast together without getting grounded. Or we should be able to."_

_She doesn't reply, but he feels her body tighten and pull away from him the slightest bit. He tenses up himself – what is it with Mal and Zoë? He's tried to find out, asking all kinds of sneaky questions, but Zoë skirts them with a deftness he can't keep up with. Or, more often, denies him with a bluntness she doesn't even bother to hide. She refuses to talk about Mal, other than to state, in no uncertain terms, that the captain is in charge._

"_Look," Wash says, "I understand he's protective. He's known you a long time, and it makes sense that he wouldn't want a slick, good-looking man like myself to come along and break your delicate heart." He traces a figure over the still sweaty skin of her chest, then lays his hand over her breastbone, like he's protecting what's inside. Just to let her know that it wouldn't happen._

"_It ain't like that," Zoë says, but she doesn't explain any more._

"_So how about you make an honest man of me?" Wash asks, surprisingly the hell out of himself with the question._

_Zoë's eyes fly open, and the look she gives him is long and doubtful. "How exactly would I go about doin' that?"_

"_You know… the whole 'to have and to hold' thing."_

_Zoë props herself up so she can look at him better. She's fully awake now. "You mean get married? You want _us_ to get married?" She sounds almost amused at the idea. It's not the reaction he'd have hoped for, if he'd taken the time to form hopes. _

_Zoë must see the disappointment in his face. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's just… I ain't exactly expectin' this. You want _me_ to be your wife?"_

_Wash is momentarily stunned. How he could not want this incredible woman in his life, as much as possible and for as long as possible? How could she be shocked to know it? _

_Before he can explain that to her, she starts setting down her terms. "I ain't gonna cook. I don't clean. I don't dress up fancy. I ain't exactly in a bright and shiny mood all the time. And I don't ever –"_

"_Whatever," Wash interrupts, and he slides on top of her; it's her turn to be the mattress. "I don't care about all that. I just want you in my bed as much as possible."_

_Zoë snorts and grins. "I thought you were plannin' on movin' into my bunk."_

"_If we got married, we could lay claim on the biggest bunk." _

"_Captain'd never go for that," she says, then her smile starts to fade, replaced by something sad._

_Wash sighs and drops his head onto her shoulder. He doesn't intend to let this go so easily. "Fine," he says. "I understand. You and Mal... you both need your brooding time. If we were married and living in the same bunk, you'd have to cut way back. I can imagine how it would be – me in your way all the time, wanting to cuddle up in our big bed, and all my things here, my dinosaurs on display and my clothes cheering up your dreary closet. It'd sure be hard for you to be moody. Really, I understand. It'd be too much of a lifestyle change."_

_He lifts his head a little to see if his strategy is working. It is; Zoë's staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, but the corner of her mouth is pulling to the side as she fights a smile. _

"_I mean really," he goes on, "What kind of idiot would want non-stop sex and entertainment when she could stay by herself in a small, dark cave and glower moodily all day–"_

"_All right, cut it out," she says. Her words are sharp but her face has given in to the smile. "I'll talk to the captain."_

"_Really?" Wash asks hopefully. Zoë saying she'll talk to Mal is as much as he can hope to hear – it's about as good as a breathlessly joyful _"yes, I will!"_ would be from another woman._

_Zoë's eyes meet his. "Guess I could do with less broodin' time."_

"_Hmm. But then… you might lose all your sex appeal–" Wash starts. He doesn't get to finish. Zoë wraps her arms and legs around him and tries her best to roll. He can tell that the wrestling match to follow is going to be hard for the little bed to contain._

o-o-o

The silence from the bridge was almost painful; there wasn't even a whisper of movement. Mal wasn't saying anything aloud, but he must have been giving Zoë one hell of a stare.

"Sir, you can take my head off all you want when we get back," Zoë finally said, "but right now, we don't have time. Simon got into the hospital's schedules – the system Kaylee's gonna be hacking is sittin' idle just over an hour from now. That's our best chance to get in. Wash'll be bringing the medic suits, and Kaylee should be about ready, so as soon as we get changed we can move out."

Wash figured it was time. He silently backed down the stairs, then clumped his feet against the grill as he climbed up again, making sure that they knew he was coming.

"Disguises!" he called out. "Get your paramedic disguises right here!"

He found Mal just where he'd pictured him: sitting in the pilot's seat, arms folded and an expression of simmering rage on his face. Zoë stood by the co-pilot's console, arms matching Mal's but her eyes sending thanks to Wash for intervening.

"Get them now or the price goes up!" Wash said, determined to break through the mood.

"Sir," Zoë said, her voice cool and even. "How about you get changed and meet me down in the cargo bay. I'll be along in a few."

Mal stood up, facing Zoë. "We are gonna have one long talk when this is over," he said stiffly.

"I understand," Zoë replied.

Wash held out a suit, but stayed well to the side as Mal grabbed it and went by.

o-o-o

Fifteen minutes later, Wash watched his reflection straighten a silk vest. It didn't look right. He'd gone for one of Simon's most colorful, but it was still a little on the somber side. It was also a bit tight around his waist, but that he could handle – it was the prim white collar of the shirt underneath that had to go. He pulled at it, then thought _to hell with it_ and started to undo the top button.

"Leave it," Zoë grumbled from where she sat on the bed that nearly filled their cabin.

"It's choking me!" Wash replied, pulling at the collar again. "I mean, really, how does he save lives when he can't even breath?"

"Just don't think about it," Zoë said, looking up at him. "You look real official and respectful, and that's what we need."

"Sure, respectful. Until I turn purple and pass out."

"Please don't, dear. You have to make the contact and sell that stuff. I don't know how Mal's gonna handle this – there's a good chance we'll be wantin' to get out of here on the quick side, and go as far as we can."

Wash nodded his understanding, suddenly feeling sober. They had enough fuel to set them to moving, but, if they planned on getting any useful distance from Londinium, the level of the tanks would be a problem. And they could only fix that if they got some money out of Badger's cargo.

He turned from the mirror to watch Zoë pull her hair back. She swore when a few thick strands got caught in the tie, then yanked at it impatiently, making the tangle worse.

No doubt about it, Wash thought, his wife was on edge. Nervous, even.

"Let me do that," he said, and he batted her hands away. Zoë didn't say anything, but let him take over. Gently, he worked out the knot in her hair, imagining the much messier tangle of thoughts which must be taking up the inside of her head. The next few hours were going to be a handful for Zoë. She was responsible for the survival of the crew, and she had to juggle two simultaneous jobs and one confused but still bossy and overbearing captain. Wash meant to do all he could to help her.

He used his fingers to comb her hair back into a low ponytail, and after he carefully fastened it, he leaned forward to kiss the crown of her head.

"Don't fret, my sweet dove," he said. "Sugar daddy's here."

His words managed to surprise a snort out of her. "Sugar daddy?"

"That's right. The money part will be all taken care of."

Zoë turned to face him, a smile relieving the tension on her face. "Thanks for doin' it, honey. I didn't want to put it on you –"

"Hey," he replied, looking her in the eye. "Don't worry. I can do this."

"I know. I'm just sorry I ain't sendin' you with better company."

They were interrupted by a pounding at the hatch, and Jayne's raised voice. "You in there? Let's go! Time to meet the whores!"

"I am really, really sorry," Zoë repeated.

"You can make it up later," Wash offered graciously. "I'll consider us even if you tear this vest off me."

"I think I can manage that," she said, laying a hand on his chest and leaning closer, but another loud knock came from above before she could do anything more.

"You hearin' me?" Jayne yelled. "Time to go!"

Wash sighed. "I'm in charge, right?"

Zoë stood and grabbed the cap that went with her medic uniform. "I told him, with all the proper threats, that you're the boss of this run. He seemed okay with that."

"Really?" Wash asked, surprised that Jayne would give in.

"I think he'd rather focus on the ladies than the job."

"Nah, that's not it. He just recognizes my negotiation skills. My talents as a salesperson. Jayne respects me. Knows I'm a good boss."

Zoë didn't seem to find that worth arguing; she just pushed him toward the ladder.

"Jayne," Wash said as he emerged from his bunk and followed the merc into the dining room, "we're supposed to look like businessmen, not clergy."

Jayne had his nicest pair of black trousers on, but he'd paired them with one of Book's high-collared gray coats. "I ain't wearing that gorramn purple no more," he replied, then he patted the jacket. "This'll do just fine."

"It ain't a bad idea, actually," Zoe said from behind Wash. "You'll be carryin' paperwork from a monastery, so it makes sense to dress as a Shepherd."

"But Jayne? Trying to pass as clergy?" Wash said skeptically. "It won't take a trained Companion to see through that."

"Now – not all clergy is dullards," Jayne said. "And not all pass on what workin' ladies have to offer."

"You've done research into your role?" Wash asked dubiously.

Jayne thumped down into a chair at the table. "I talk to the Shepherd lots. He says they don't cut it off or nothin', and there ain't no reason a man of God can't do a little worshippin' of the female form if he wants. It's a personal choice." He ended his lecture with a knowledgeable nod.

"Where's Mal?" Zoë asked impatiently.

"Ready to go," Jayne replied. "Come in a few minutes ago, and said he'd meet us in the cargo bay. Looked mad as hell. I'm glad I ain't the one dealin' with him."

Zoë ignored that last part and stuck to business. "You all set with what you n' Wash are out to do?"

"Ain't a problem."

"All right, then, let's – "

She was interrupted by Shepherd Book. He leaned in the aft hatch, his breath coming a little short as if he'd just run up the stairs. "Zoë, we have a problem," he said. "Mal fell asleep."

"He _what?_"

"He was sitting on the steps in the cargo bay, looking mighty angry, so I let him be. Next time I looked in, he was out. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, and I woke him, but…"

"Clean slate?"

"Looks like it. He was heading this way – up the fore stairs."

Zoë dropped her head in her hands in frustration, but it was only a second before she looked up and spoke firmly.

"All right, you all take the back way to the infirmary. Keep Simon and Kaylee there, and if you see River get her out of the way. I don't want Mal seein' anyone – especially not you two dressed up like you are. I got enough to explain. I'll keep him on the upper deck, get him out of sight. Wash, if the bay's clear, you and Jayne get going. Make the delivery and get back here, fast as you can."

"Some crew we're gettin' to be," Jayne muttered, "the gorramn captain, fallin' asleep in the middle of a job." He shook his head as he grabbed the gray box and headed toward the aft hatch, following after the Shepherd.

"Wash," Zoë called out, and she motioned for him to stay put for a second. She stepped close and spoke to him softly, but her eyes had a kind of hardness that made him a wee bit uneasy. "If by some slim chance you come across Inara in that House," she said, "not a word about Mal." Wash opened his mouth, but she didn't let him speak. "She made her choice, and she ain't welcome here. If you find yourself needin' to make that clear to her, do it."

Zoë turned toward the fore hatch without waiting for a reply.

Wash hurried below decks to find Book explaining the situation to Simon. Kaylee was having a quiet word with Jayne, and Wash saw her slip him a small white envelope. _Funny time to thinking about pen pals,_ Wash thought to himself.

He glanced into the cargo bay; Mal was there, talking to Zoë on the catwalk, so Wash went back to the common room. They settled to wait, except Kaylee and Simon, who took a last chance to review.

Then something odd happened – despite Zoë's plan to keep Mal busy upstairs, the captain came in from the cargo bay at a flat-out run. He hardly glanced at Wash and Jayne, just rushed to the infirmary hatch and froze, staring inside.

Zoë was a few steps behind the captain. "Go," she told Wash in a lowered voice.

"But... what…?" Wash stuttered.

"But… how…?" Mal said at roughly the same time, and he turned to look at Zoë with his mouth hanging open.

"Just go," Zoë told Wash in a firm whisper. "Now!"

Wash nodded and led Jayne off the ship.

o-o-o

"Captain's lost it, huh?" Jayne asked.

Wash sighed, but as much as he would have liked to shush the merc, they had to stay in character now. They'd made it to the Companion House without incident (only one short pause at a postbox they passed.)

Jayne wasn't doing too bad so far; he'd kept his voice down and hadn't made a fuss when Wash turned down the offer of cocktails, asking for tea instead. Of course, it could be that Jayne's brain was too busy running his eyes to handle anything else.

They were seated in a small but luxurious parlor, the gray refrigerated box on the table in front of them. The woman who'd greeted them had taken one look at the box's contents and disappeared with the Certificate of Origin which Book had provided. There hadn't been any sight or mention of Inara. Not that Wash expected it – Inara had been based on Sihnon, not here on Londinium. He was more than glad about that; he had plenty to sort out without getting in the middle of an argument between his wife and Inara.

He was having a strong feeling that the job wasn't going to turn out well. He couldn't put a finger on it... Maybe it was the lukewarm welcome he and Jayne had received; the ladies of the House didn't seem to have been expecting them. Not that it was easy to tell with trained Companions, and Wash certainly hadn't ever been the best at reading women...

o-o-o

Five years ago

_Wash isn't getting much assistance from his assistant. There's a lot of fixing to be done before this extremely rough diamond of a boat will fly the way he means to fly it. The ship's mechanic is the one who should be doing the majority of the work, but it hasn't been going that way._

"_Bester," Wash says, and he rolls out from under the console enough to see the young man sitting against the aft bulkhead of the bridge. "Throw me some 18 gauge wire. About… half a meter of it."_

_Bester frowns in the open-mouthed way he has. "Eighteen?" he asks. "Whad'ya need that for?"_

"_To connect the hydraulics to the console."_

_Bester looks aside as he thinks about it, his mouth still hanging open. "But... why ya wanna do that?"_

_Wash's impatience grows. "Helps me fly the ship. You know – pilot has controls, controls make the ship fly..."_

"_You don't need no line to the hydraulics. Ain't no ship I ever been on had that."_

_Wash sighs. "Could you just get the wire?"_

"_Okay," Bester says with a doubtful shrug, and he starts routing through a box. "Hey," he says as he digs. "You think Zoë's into music? Think that might get her in the mood?"_

_Wash sighs again. He's continually amazed at Bester's ability to go on tangents. "Why do you care?" he asks._

"_Are you blind?" Bester blows his breath out in a sound of appreciation. "Ain't you ever _looked_ at her?"_

_Wash shrugs, then slides back under the console. Since he came on board, he's had eyes for little but the ship. He hasn't taken time to think about the crew, other than the obvious uselessness of the mechanic. _

"_I guess… Yeah, I guess she's attractive," he finally says. "In her own way. But she's not really my type."_

"_Good thing," Bester says with a laugh, "cause she can't stand you."_

_Wash is so shocked that he nearly drops the soldering iron on his face. He catches it and stares at Bester in shock. "What? What do you mean?"_

"_Don't tell me you ain't seen – she don't xactly try to hide it. She hardly ever talks when you're around. And ain't you seen the looks she gives you?"_

"_Well… um… not so much. She looks at me badly? In a bad way?" _

_Bester only shrugs, then starts digging in the box again._

"_But that doesn't mean anything," Wash says. "I bet she doesn't like anyone. She doesn't talk much anyway, and never laughs. I bet she doesn't even smile."_

"_She does with the captain," Bester says. He finds a bolt in the box and starts tossing it in the air, catching it in the opposite hand. Single object juggling. "You should'a heard her in the cargo bay yesterday. Cap and her were tearin' up the bulkhead, talking 'bout the stuff they could smuggle in there. I'm surprised you couldn't hear them up on the bridge."_

_Wash abandons working and sits up. "She laughed?" he asks._

"_Loud and long. She's pretty when she does it, too. Gott'a wonder what she's like when she really–"_

"_So maybe her and the captain…?"_

"_Nuh-uh. I cleared that up right off. Didn't want to step on Mal's toes. He's kind'a serious about some stuff, you know? But she ain't with no one."_

"_Oh." Wash gives the clueless but disturbingly fit mechanic a long, measuring look. "Do _you_ ever make her laugh?"_

_Bester grins. "Tryin'."_

_Wash narrows his eyes for a second, then he gets back to work. _

o-o-o

He'd been way off with Zoë. Of course, once he'd set his mind to it, he'd won her over. It'd taken his best efforts... it was probably the toughest thing he'd ever done. Really, not many men could have managed it.

"Did'ya see the red-head?" Jayne whispered, calling Wash's attention back into the richly decorated parlor. "God bless Ma Nature for putting a lady like that together."

Wash frowned at Jayne, who seemed to be taking his borrowed outfit a little too seriously.

"Let's stay focused on what we're doing," Wash said softly. "We have to get this sale." He checked his watch. "What's taking them so long?"

"You think we can ask for a bonus?" Jayne asked, his whisper rising a little. "Like a free ride maybe?"

"No – we can't," Wash said impatiently. "We have to get back to the ship as fast as possibly. There's no time for you to… you know."

"Wouldn't take long," Jayne said earnestly. "It's been a while."

"Oh, well then..." Wash replied. "In that case, we'd better just rearrange all our plans so you can have your…" Too late, he noticed a woman standing in the doorway, listening. He snapped his mouth shut, then gave her an innocent smile and wave.

"Were you interested in meeting one of the Companions on more intimate terms?" she asked Jayne. Though the question was suggestive, her tone wasn't. She sounded very businesslike, and it seemed to confuse Jayne.

"Well, I…" the merc stuttered.

"No, he's not," Wash interrupted firmly.

"Yeah, I am," Jayne said, the words coming out loud now that he'd found his tonuge. "If it's included in the price. Or even at a disc– ow!"

He stopped when Wash landed a kick on his shin. They both looked up nervously, but the woman smiled graciously. "I'll talk to the Priestess, see what we can do. But please stay here. It won't be much longer."

"So… what's taking so long?" Wash asked.

The Companion hesitated barely a second, but then she smiled with the same kind of plastic grace that Inara used to have when she was lying. It was a small thing, but Wash saw it.

"She's gathering the payment," the woman said. She cast one more silken smile toward Jayne, then turned and left.

That exchange was enough to make up Wash's mind - he'd managed to romance the very tough Corporal Zoë Alleyne; he could trust his instincts toward a trained Companion. He counted to ten, making himself wait until the woman was out of earshot, then whispered: "Jayne, grab the box."

"Wha'?"

"We're going now."

"Maybe you ain't payin' attention, but we ain't finished yet."

Wash wasn't about to wait. He stood and picked up the box himself.

"Hey, little man," Jayne said in a louder whisper. "We're about to close a big deal here, with a little fleshy bonus. You're gonna ruin it!"

"Tell you what – you stay here and wait for the uniformed enforcer types to show. I'm leaving."

"You mean the po-lice?" Jayne asked. "What the hell…?"

Wash stopped in the doorway to check that the hall was empty, then looked back. "You think a Companion would just give you a freebie?"

Jayne hooked a thumb in his belt. "Well… I – "

"You think _Inara_ would give you a freebie?"

Wash started down the hall, and was relieved to hear a soft curse and heavy footsteps behind him a second later.

o-o-o

They put a few blocks between themselves and the Companion House, then Wash stopped to consider his options. He'd been quick to make the call to abandon the job, but now certain consequences were occurring to him. They hadn't escaped Jayne either.

"So, how exactly we gonna get off world?" the merc asked in a hushed voice. "As I recall, takes fuel for that. And what we got in this box ain't the right kind of fuel."

"Gaōyáng zhōng de gūyáng," Wash muttered to himself, but he had no answer for Jayne.

The merc wouldn't leave it alone. "You heard Zoë. We don't pull this off, we can't get far."

"And us being arrested for poaching would help how?" Wash snapped.

Jayne turned away and scratched his head, leaving Wash to work this out on his own. He needed to think fast; they couldn't stand out here all day. He could wave Zoë… but no, that wasn't an option right now; her hands were full enough with trying to get Mal into and out of the hospital.

"Let's get to the ship," he said as decisively as he could. "We'll talk to Zoë when she gets back. Maybe there's something else we can do."

Jayne turned back to him. "Yeah, there's somethin' we can do," he said, and he snatched the box away from Wash. He heaved it onto his shoulder and set off down the street.

"Wait!" Wash called, but Jayne kept walking at a quick clip. Wash had no choice but to follow – he wasn't going to let the mercenary run away with the crew's sole monetary asset. He caught up just as Jayne reached an intersection and turned onto a larger street, heading toward the high rise business district about half a klick away.

"You can't do this!" Wash said. "I'm in charge!"

Jayne snorted dismissively.

Wash scratched his head as he hurried along. How exactly did one get Jayne to fall in line? Mal and Zoë could do it – generally, by just using a glare. But Wash wasn't big, wasn't scary, and wasn't armed. His one strength, outside of a cockpit, was his charming personality. His chattiness.

Well, if that's all he had…

"Uh… Hey Jayne. You maybe wanna tell me where we're going?"

"Nope."

"You're going to make your own personal use of that?" Wash asked. "Retiring to a life of aphrodisiac aided sin?"

Jayne grinned, but didn't slow down. "There's an idea."

Wash exhaled impatiently. Oddly, Jayne didn't sound belligerent, just determined, and that threw Wash even more. He didn't know how to deal with Jayne in this kind of mood.

They moved fast, and soon reached the downtown area, entering a wide square full of scurrying business people. Wash suddenly felt very out of place; everyone was tastefully attired in black or somber shades of dark blue and grey. Simon's vest, which had seemed so dull and drab as compared to Wash's usual clothes, stood out like a purplebelly battlecruiser in a rimworld junkyard.

Jayne didn't seem bothered. He was actually dressed a little more fittingly than Wash, with his dark pants and gray coat, but he blended even less. He walked through the crowd like a bull making a b-line for a cow in heat, one arm still holding the box balanced on his shoulder, his other arm swinging loose but free hand in a fist. Suits and pigeons scattered before him, parting with nervous looks and sounds.

Wash followed in Jayne's wake, beginning to wish he'd tried to tackle the merc and take the box back. They were attracting way too much attention. If any security types actually were called in to the Companion House and were now out hunting them, Jayne was making it as easy as possible. And where the hell could the man be headed? A power lunch with CEO's?

It got a little clearer a few minutes later, after Jayne left the square and headed into a very different neighborhood. Nestled on the edge of the business district was a cluster of narrow streets lined with the kind of drinking establishments that fit a man like Jayne. The merc marched up to a door between shaded windows, garbage on the concrete steps and unpleasant smells all around. He shoved open the door and stepped through the entrance without hesitation.

Wash followed less confidently, and he was more than a bit surprised at what he found inside. Fully lit, the place might not look better than the streets outside, but the lights were dim and moody enough to make the black floors and mirrored walls looked something close to classy.

In any case, no one inside was looking at the decor. The brightest thing in the room was the nearly naked woman on a platform that extended through the center of the scattered tables. Jayne gave the dancer an appreciative look, then headed for the bar that sat in a low pit on the far side of the room. Not sure what else to do, Wash followed.

"You want somethin'?" Jayne asked when Wash joined him at the bar. It took Wash a few seconds to realize that Jayne meant a drink.

"It's a little early in the day and I'm kind of on the job. Hey – and so are you."

"Relax," Jayne said. "It's all about how you do business, little man. Watch and learn."

Jayne ordered, and when the bartender set his drink down, he leaned over the bar. "Miss Jessi still running this place?" he asked. The bartender responded with a nod. "You might wanna tell her to get out here. I got somethin' she'll be real interested in." Jayne nodded toward the box he'd set on the bar next to him.

"You know Miss Jessi?" the bartender asked, skeptically studying the preacher coat that fit snug over Jayne's shoulders.

"I done business with her ladies a time or two," Jayne said with a smirk. "And I did appreciate the service. Now I got somethin' special to offer in return."

The bartender looked to Wash, who decided it was best to play along. Maybe he could even help, now that he had an idea what Jayne was planning.

"I'd listen up," Wash said with his friendliest smile. "This is some valuable stuff we have there, the finest selesta you can find. You really don't want to miss this opportunity. You won't get another chance, and our prices are absolutely the – ow!" He stopped when a boot slammed into his shinbone – hard.

"You'll have to excuse him," Jayne said to the bartender. "Socially challenged. Diarrhea of the mouth. How's about you pour him a glass of your house whiskey to keep him busy…" Jayne paused and held up a bill – much too large to pay for nothing but a couple of drinks. "…and go get your boss lady. Dŏng ma?"

The bartender didn't take any time to consider. He grabbed the money and shoved it in his pocket, then poured a generous drink for Wash before he disappeared through a door behind the bar.

Wash threw back half of the whiskey right off. He needed it to soothe the sting of being called _socially challenged_ by Jayne Cobb.

"So," he asked Jayne. "You got rich friends you never tell us about?"

Jayne took a swig of his own drink. "What? You figure somebody runnin' _this_ place is rich?"

"You must think she's rich enough to buy our... product. That is – I assume – the reason we're here?"

"Hell. Jessi can't afford all this," Jayne said, knocking his knuckles against the box.

"And again I ask – what are you doing?"

"I figure there ain't a rule sayin' we have to sell it all in one place, right? So how's about we visit a few little joints like this, places that don't care about poachin' laws, and sell it in little bits. Might even make more coin that way."

Wash glared his annoyance at Jayne, but a little voice in his head was telling him that, crazy as it seemed, the merc might have a good idea here. He wasn't ready to admit it out loud, though. Not until his frustration with Jayne had a chance to mellow.

Miss Jessi made her appearance a minute later. Wash got ready to do business, but Jayne gave him a shockingly eloquent glare. Wash settled back on his stool, waved for a refill of his whiskey, and let Jayne take the box and follow the lady into an office.

To kill the time, Wash turned his back to the bar and surveyed the establishment again. As a pilot who'd spent most of his life traveling the less savory parts of the verse, he'd seen his share of strip joints; there weren't many options as far as places to grab a drink on some worlds. He knew enough about the scene to work a few things out about this particular place.

Despite the rough exterior, this wasn't the kind of trashy dump where women (and, possibly, men) worked for what cash got tucked into their stringy little outfits. This place was a level above that, economically speaking. The woman on stage at the moment was standing upright, her hips moving in alluring little circles. Unlike some of the more acrobatic strippers he'd seen, the full details of her anatomy weren't available for inspection, and probably wouldn't be until one of the hunched patrons scattered around the bar paid extra to take her to a private room.

And, in those back rooms, there likely was more than sexy dances for sale. If so, there'd be paraphernalia, tidbits that wealthy men working in the area would spend good money for when they ducked in here on their lunch breaks.

Okay, Wash thought, so maybe this could work. Maybe.

o-o-o

Translations  
gaōyáng zhōng de gūyáng: Motherless goats of all motherless goats  
dŏng ma?: understand?


	9. Chapter 9 of 14: Mal

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Mal**

_Grimly, Mal looks out the cockpit window at the ship approaching through the empty Black. He curses to himself; it's just like that sāobī Lady Luck to drop this on him now, when his plate is plenty full. First he got stuck with marked cargo that Badger wouldn't take, then his passengers turned out to include an Alliance mole and a fugitive doctor who smuggled aboard his lunatic sister. And now, just to spice it up proper: Reavers._

_Zoë doesn't say a thing when she comes on to the bridge, just stands behind the pilot's seat, a hand on her husband's shoulder. Wash covers it with own, then his eyes return to the thing outside the window. It's close now, close enough that plenty of detail can be seen. The ship is ugly as can be, torn up and stained, its misshapen front end grimacing at them and a cloud of waste billowing in its wake._

"_Magnetic grappler," Wash says, pointing at the oversized arm sticking out of the ship's port side. "They get ahold of us with that –"_

"_Just tell me if they alter course," Mal says. He doesn't need a description. He knows very well what will happen if the Reavers latch on and board. Damn right he knows; he's seen it with his own eyes. _

_He clenches his teeth and sets himself to face what might very well be coming, and what he'll need to do about it. There's no way he'll let Reavers have their way with anyone on _Serenity_. If it looks to be coming to that, Mal will shoot down every person on this ship. Well, not Zoë and Wash; Zoë'd want to take care of that herself. But the rest of them…_

"_They're holding course," Wash says, and Mal lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He struggles to keep himself icy as the horror of what he's been considering crashes over him. Kill his own crew? He knows he would have. Even Kaylee, lying unconscious and helpless, fighting for her life. He'd have ended that, putting a bullet into her head without being able to tell her why._

"_I guess they weren't hungry," Wash continues. "Sure didn't expect to see them here…"_

_Zoë shakes her head. "They're pushing out further every year."_

"_Getting awful crowded in my sky," Mal says. The shock slowly wears off; in its place is an urgent need to go down to the infirmary. He has to see Kaylee, to make sure she's still breathing. _

_He's turning to leave the bridge when –_

A hand shook his shoulder, and Mal straightened with a start. He was sitting, his body propped against a thin metal upright, and the Shepherd was leaning over him.

"Captain?" Book asked. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Mal said, running a hand through his hair. He felt like his head was full of molasses, and he scratched his scalp, trying to get some blood moving upstairs. "I guess… I dozed off," he said thickly.

Dozed off? Since when did he _doze_? He patted his head with a bit more care, but didn't find any sore spots like a hard blow would have made. He didn't feel the particular kind of nausea that drugs or too much drink would leave, either. So what else could it have been but sleep?

He dropped his hand and took a look around, and what he saw increased his confusion. He was on the fore cargo bay stairs, a few steps up from the deck. The preacher was standing at the base of the stairs, looking down on Mal with an expression of worry.

"I was just on my way to, uh…" Mal paused, unsure. He must have been out hard, the kind of deep sleep that made you forget where and when you were. Sleep like that wasn't something he'd had in a long time – the war had trained him too well. But he distantly recognized this addled feeling, remembered it from lazy summer days back home on Shadow when he'd sneak off to a shady spot and wake up hours later lying in the grass, trying to work out whether it was the morning or evening chores that he'd slept through.

It was like that now, made even worse by shreds of a dream that faded as he tried to grab hold of it. There'd been Reavers, he was sure of that. Not the distinct, horrible memory of Reavers as he and Zoë had seen them once long ago, but Reavers in his present life, coming out of the Black, passing right over _Serenity_'s bow.

"You were going to…?" the Shepherd prompted.

Mal ignored him, focusing the tangle of his thoughts, trying to sort dream from reality. It had been so _vivid_, like it had really happened. But Reavers going by all casual, no murder and pillage? No giving chase? That couldn't be.

Clearly, it was just a dream.

What details he could recall slowly faded, just as any dream should, and that was a relief. Mal gave himself a short laugh, surprised that he'd suspected it to be true, for however brief a time. Reavers didn't troll this part of the verse. The course from Persephone to Whitefall didn't take his ship any where near Reaver space...

"Whitefall," he said to himself, finally finding a train of thought that made sense, that involved real life. "Patience. Gotta meet with Patience. The foodstuffs."

"I believe – " the Shepherd started, then he looked up toward the bridge. "I believe that Zoë is taking care of the ship's course." He patted Mal on the arm reassuringly. "Why don't you wait here. I'll call her down."

Mal eyed the preacher, realizing that he shouldn't have mentioned Patience and the illegally salvaged cargo. And another thing – this man had booked passage on the ship a single day ago, and he ought not to be talking to the ship's captain like he was. Suddenly, Mal was annoyed with himself for acting so flighty around a passenger, especially a preacher on the lookout for a flock to lead. He grabbed the railing to pull himself up, moving a bit slow because the inside of his head still felt thick, but he wanted to be on his feet and looking down on the Shepherd while he set him straight.

"I believe there was a rule about no passengers in the cargo bay, old man," Mal said, a harsh edge to his voice. "You get yourself back to the passenger's dorm and leave the runnin' of the ship to those who run it."

Shepherd Book opened his mouth, then closed it and inclined his head in a small bow. "Of course. I apologize."

Mal kept a dark stare on the preacher until the man was out of sight, then turned to climb the stairs. He made it one step before he caught a glimpse of something that brought him to a quick stop; he took a long look down at himself, at what he was wearing, and he began to be well and truly creepified.

It a neat and tidy dark blue jumpsuit, with a vest over it. Purple patches on the vest and sleeves showed blue and white serpents wound around each other. That gave it away; it was the suit of a medic.

"What the hell?" he muttered. A medic? Had he entered some alternate universe? Or was someone playing a really bad prank on him? This wasn't quite Wash's style, but Mal couldn't imagine anyone else doing something this ridiculous.

Whoever was behind it, Mal meant to make it clear to anyone involved that this crap did not happen on his ship. He started up the stairs again.

He'd just reached the catwalk when motion caught his eye – the Tam girl was walking slowly in from the far side of the bay, one hand sliding silently along the railing. She was staring at him in a way that made him feel like some kind of lab rat, soon to be cut open so his insides would show better. It was disturbing, to say the least.

"Morning," he said uncomfortably.

"Good _afternoon_, Captain," she replied pointedly.

"Uh-huh," he replied, but decided to let her cheeky tone pass. She was looking a mite more stable than the last time he'd seen her awake – the one time he'd seen her awake – but he wasn't inclined to push it. "It's River, right?"

She stopped and leaned against a post, tilting her head to the side, and suddenly her eyes seemed to grow bigger and to drip a kind of sadness that no young person should know.

"Yes. Very good memory," she said softly.

"Thanks," Mal answered, then added _I think_ under his breath. He looked around – there wasn't anyone else in the bay. It made him wonder what his crew was up to, letting the passengers roam about like they were. "You seem to be feeling better," he said to the girl. "All thawed out?"

"Thawed," she replied blankly, without a nod or a headshake to explain herself. Mal waited, but that seemed to be all she meant to say. As if his jobs weren't odd enough, couldn't he just pick up a normal passenger?

"Glad to hear it. So – given how you were boxed up and all, you didn't hear the rules. Passengers need to stay out of the cargo bay, so you'd better go on –"

"Did you sleep well?" she interrupted.

Mal frowned, confused not so much at her question but the way she spoke up so quick, like she knew him well enough to cut off on order as it came out of his mouth. It was downright annoying. On the other hand, if the girl'd been messed with the way the doctor'd said, Mal was in no hurry to be harsh with her, not if there was no need for it.

"I slept just fine," he replied in a measured tone. "How bout yourself?"

She finally looked away from him, gazing down to the cargo bay floor, and shook her head. "Hard to sleep. Dreams are too loud." She glanced at him when she said that last bit, just a quick sideways peek like there was some hidden message in her words. Whatever it was, he didn't get it.

"I'll see what we can do about that. We do aim to have happy passengers." He jerked his thumb toward the hatch behind him, hoping to get her to leave. "Now, if you'll just – "

"Is it easier to sleep with someone in your bed?" she asked, not looking at him at all.

"Shén me?"

"When you have someone to hold, someone to keep you warm, someone to make love with. Does it help you sleep?"

That was beyond anything he could handle at the moment. "Mayhap that's a question you should be askin'… anyone not me."

"Want to know what _you_ think," River said. She raised her head and fixed her eyes on him again, and this time he saw something that caught him completely off guard. The sadness was still there, but also a naked longing that made him wonder...

She dropped her eyes as a blush crept into her cheeks, then stepped closer to him and reached out a tentative hand toward his folded arms. "Mal," she said in a soft whisper. "I can help."

He took another look at her face, at her eyes that were too shy to meet his, and he knew that what he suspected was right. He'd seen this kind of thing happen in the war. You got a person in charge, someone who knows how to do things and keeps his weaknesses and problems to himself, and oft-times a lonely new recruit will believe the act, take a bit too much comfort in it, and start having notions that they really shouldn't.

Question was, how had this girl gotten such an idea in her head, about him, so quickly? He'd never even talked to her before. Whatever – he'd best explain that little girls weren't his thing, and put an end to this fancy of hers before it did her any harm.

"Never mind," she said suddenly, her voice clipped like she was hurt. "Doesn't matter anyway."

She pulled her hand back and walked past him, shrinking against the far railing so she wouldn't come close to touching him. Silently, she climbed the stairs and disappeared in the darkness of the upper corridor.

Mal sighed and leaned over the railing, resting on his elbows. He was feeling awake now, but still not so clear-headed. It didn't help that his passengers seemed to have free run of his ship, and odd ideas as to how they could talk to him. He needed to find Zoë and figure out what was going on here – in just a minute. For now, it felt good to close his eyes, enjoy the dark and the quiet, and try to shake off whatever weight it was that slowed his thoughts…

He knew Zoë was behind him before she spoke; he recognized the soft tread of her footsteps on the stairs.

"Sir?"

It was spoken like a question, and she didn't venture any more words. That told him that she wanted to suss his mood before she said anything. Maybe she already knew that strangeness was afoot.

"Zoë," he said, straightening up, "if your husband's got anything to do with this, we are gonna have ourselves a very, very bad day."

"How do you mean, sir?" she asked, her tone noncommittal.

He turned around, raising his voice. "Just look at what I'm…. Oh." He closed his eyes and shook his head, then opened them and looked at her again. "Am I seein' things?"

"I don't… think so," she replied, but she didn't sound at all sure.

"Are we both all dressed up like medics?"

"Oh, that," she said, obviously relieved. "It's a disguise."

"Disguise?"

"That's right."

"We're disguised as medics?"

"We are."

"And… you're gonna tell me why?"

She replied like it should have been obvious. "To get in to the hospital without folks askin' questions."

"And… we're going to a hospital because…"

"We got a job to do. You, me, and Kaylee."

That was too much. Just who was running this ship, and when exactly had everyone gone nuts? "No. No. No," he told her, holding out a lecturing finger. "We got a job to do – you, me and _Jayne_. Marked cargo, Patience, dŏng ma? We don't need any hosp- …"

Mal stopped when he put two things together. Kaylee – and a hospital. "Tāmā de," he swore, and he turned to run down the stairs.

How could he have forgotten about Kaylee?

He heard Zoë following him, asking where he was going, but he ignored her and hurried on. He passed Jayne and Wash in the common room but barely noticed them; all he could think of was Kaylee, laying on the gurney, bleeding.

When he caught sight of the inside of the infirmary, he pulled up short in the hatch. Kaylee was sitting on a stool near the counter, studying some sort of diagram that she held in her lap. She was wearing another of those gorramn medic's suits, and had her face scrubbed clean and hair neatly tied back.

She looked up at Mal and smiled. "Hey, Cap'n," she said, her voice cheerful. "You all set to go?"

Mal was too befuddled to answer. He gaped at her until he noticed that another passenger – the young doctor – had frozen in the act of sorting the contents of a drawer. He was staring over his shoulder at Mal, looking for all the verse like he owned the place and Mal was a surprise visitor.

"But… how…?" Mal stuttered. He looked to Zoë for help, but she was talking to Jayne and Wash. She sent the two men off through the cargo bay before she turned to Mal.

"What is it, sir?"

"It's just…" He pointed at Kaylee. "Why ain't she unconscious?"

"Why would I be that?" Kaylee asked.

"Cause you got shot," Mal said, the words coming out a little stronger than he'd meant. "The Fed – he shot you! Couldn't have been more than an hour ago."

"Nobody got shot, sir," Zoë said beside him.

"But I saw it. You saw it, too. Right in the hatch over there – "

"Sir, if she'd been shot, would she be lookin' like she is?"

"Yeah, Captain," Kaylee said, standing up and holding her arms out beside her. "See, I'm just fine." She even turned a little circle, ending it with a neat country curtsy.

"But…" Mal stopped. How could he argue over this? _Why_ would he argue over this? It was clear what he was seeing, and he sure as hell liked this sight better than…

A faint hint of his dream came back, a faded echo: Reavers, and Kaylee lying in the infirmary. And him, thinking he'd have to shoot down every one of his crew. Even Kaylee. This whole idea must have been part of that dream; it was the only thing that made sense.

"I guess… I guess I dreamed it," he said, and as soon as the words left his mouth he felt certain, and he also felt more than a bit foolish. He scratched the side of his neck and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Kaylee. I… uh, I'm real glad to see you ain't been shot."

"Thank you. I'm glad of it myself."

She smiled at him brightly, and Mal smiled back, but his worry lingered as he studied her. She surely wasn't fighting off a gunshot wound, but there was still something about her – about her smile. It didn't have the clear joy that he was used to. And she looked… older somehow. Thinner.

"Come on, Captain," Zoë said. "Bernoulli called while you were havin' your nap, and we got a change of plans."

"The hospital thing?" he asked, reluctantly turning away from Kaylee.

"That's right. Come on up to the shuttle; I'll explain it all there."

o-o-o

Mal'd heard enough nonsense come out of his mouth already, so he figured that he'd try listening for a bit. Maybe he could get a bearing on what was so far a very strange afternoon. He sat on a bench in Shuttle Two while Zoë explained the new plan: there was a hospital with a computer, the computer had data, and some contact of Bernoulli's wanted that data bad enough to pay them to get it. The doctor knew how to find it, but given his status, he wasn't one who should get involved in crime. He'd shown Kaylee all they needed to get in and do the job.

When Zoë finished her say, Mal couldn't come up with a good enough reply. This sudden "hospital job" had too many problems: loose ends, details that made no sense…. Zoë had to see it. The fact that she was passing it off to him as a good idea was worrisome.

He folded his arms and glowered. Zoë wasn't one to get nervous, but he'd always been able to get to her. He waited, and when she looked away and fidgeted, he knew that what he suspected was right. Zoë was shoveling some kind of gōushī at him.

But if he was waiting for her to crack and spew out the truth, he'd be waiting a while. He'd have to try a little harder then the Stare of Serious Doubt if he wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"Zoë," he finally said, "this sounds to me a lot like a change of plans."

She gave in to that easily enough. "That it is."

"Now – correct me if I'm wrong, but ain't I usually involved when there's a change of plans?"

"You were busy, so I took the wave."

"I was busy," he repeated flatly. Was she serious about that? "I was busy… napping?"

She held her head up defiantly and looked him in the eye. "That's right. I didn't think there'd be a problem if I took care of it."

"Yeah, there's a problem," he said, raising his voice just a bit. "We got a Fed mole on board, an Alliance cruiser somewhere out there lookin' for us, we haven't unloaded the cargo Badger stiffed us on, and… are you seriously telling me that the _doctor_ is settin' this up? The doctor who just stepped on board yesterday? The prissy, blue-blood fugitive who got Kaylee…"

He stopped, because that wasn't true. Kaylee hadn't got shot; she was dandy, sitting down in the infirmary wearing some silly medic suit.

But the doctor's sister was on board. She'd come out of a box, a box Mal had opened himself. He'd opened that box because the doctor'd played fast and loose with Kaylee's life, and Mal'd damn well wanted to know why.

But Kaylee never got shot…

Mal's stomach fell out from under him.

Zoë spoke again, her voice even and measured and blank. "Sir, I know this may seem a little off, but I need you to trust me."

Her words enveloped Mal in a sense of déjà vu so strong it made him dizzy, made him feel like he'd breathed in a little too much pure O2, or maybe not enough. Zoë'd said that to him before. Not just once, but many times. He was absolutely sure of it.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. Kaylee'd never got shot, but he remembered seeing it. God help him, he did.

"Do you trust me, Captain?"

He looked up and answered her the only way he could, the words falling out of his mouth slow and flat.

"You know I trust you, Zoë. But this is just…"

He couldn't finish. He knew that he'd said that before; he could almost hear it echoing inside his head.

"Yes, this is strange," Zoë finished for him. "This makes no sense, but it's gonna work out. Just go with it – for today, all right? We got a chance, and… it's important. Really, really important. We need to do this job."

He shook his head, but he couldn't find words for whatever it was he wanted to refuse. Maybe he was losing his mind? That certainly would explain things.

"We'll sort it out tomorrow," Zoë added.

_Sort it out tomorrow_: again that gorramn echo.

"Just come along with me and Kaylee," she continued. "It's an easy job, but we got a clock tickin'. There's only a short spell when we can go where we need to. When we get back, I'll explain. I'll answer every question you got. I swear it."

Mal couldn't be satisfied with that. "Answer one thing right now," he said. "I'm not imagining… whatever this is, right? Something's goin' on. Something… I can't even…"

She replied in a voice without doubt. "You're not imagining. Something's very wrong, but we're going to fix it. But I need you to trust me. Just for a little while."

That demand again: _Trust_. Mal exhaled impatiently, looking away. Why did she keep asking that of him? She had to know that he'd put his life in her hands without a doubt. He'd done so many times already.

"Listen to me, Captain," Zoë said in a commanding tone, the sort she hadn't used on him in a damned long time. Not since he'd first known her, when she was the hardened vet and he was the green recruit. Corporal Alleyne'd been the kind of soldier who could get attention when she wanted it, and Zoë Washburn still had that power.

"You need to stop thinking about all the things that don't make sense," she said, her voice still hard. "All that matters is that we get this job done. You'll need to help out a little once we get in there, but we'll deal with that later. For now, you focus on _right now_ and stay cool. Got it?"

After a short pause, Mal nodded. He had no reason to doubt Zoë, even though, right now, he doubted just about everything else.

"Stay here," she said. No – she ordered. Mal felt a wave of defiance twist his insides, but it got lost in all the arguments going on in his head. He kept to his seat while Zoë called Kaylee to join them in the shuttle.

Kaylee said a brief hello when she came in, then took a seat against the far bulkhead, like she wanted to be left alone. It puzzled him, and he spent the shuttle ride studying her.

No, she surely wasn't hurt, no matter what some stubborn corner of his head was telling him. But she did look different, like she was a copy of the Kaylee he knew. It was close, but not perfectly done. Some of the details had changed, especially how she wouldn't look up at him, just studied a small rectangular techie device in her hands. She pulled a clear, round patch off the side of it and stuck it to the back of her ear.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Oh… it's the comm for the uTex," she answered. "The patch sends sound through bone. Picks up my voice the same way. Qiǎo miào, huh?"

Mal knew such tech existed, but it tended to cost a lot. "How in the world'd you get ahold of that?" he asked.

"You… I mean, I picked up a bunch last week. Got real lucky, I guess. Been workin' on em, to make sure they're safe." She flipped the thin rectangular box in her hands. "They're not like to be traced, cause so many people transmit on this band. The signals are everywhere." She looked down again, studying the thing like she was too interested in it to talk to Mal anymore.

The Kaylee he knew wouldn't be so tight-lipped about a fancy new toy – this was yet another tidbit to grate on him. There wasn't a single thing he'd seen since he woke up in the cargo bay that made sense, and no matter how much Zoë reassured him, he knew something was rotten here.

He sat back and glowered as he considered it, staring at Kaylee as he tried to think of a question he could put to her, something that wouldn't make him sound insane. She ignored his stare, not looking up at him again the whole rest of the ride.

It wasn't a long trip. Zoë set them down in a crowded landing area, one of many surrounding a large complex of buildings. The three of them stepped out of the shuttle into a warm sunny day, and for a second Mal had another hollow feeling, unsettling enough to make him dizzy. There was a big bunch of _not right_ sitting in front of his nose. He knew it, but he couldn't name it – he couldn't find the right place to look.

They had a bit of a walk to get from where they landed to the hospital's main entrance, passing through lots full of transports and small groups of people coming and going. Mal's uneasy feeling grew the whole time, and the thought came to him again: maybe he was insane. Maybe he'd finally lost it. But he couldn't just ask about that, couldn't say: _Hey, by the way, have I gone nuts lately?_

He settled for a simpler question. "You wanna share some details?" he asked, and he watched Zoë close while she answered.

"Not much to tell," she said flatly. Her face was closed to him, her eyes not meeting his. "Kaylee knows the way. The doc got maps off the cortex and filled her in. We follow her, let her get what she needs on a data disk, then we leave."

"And if there's any problems?"

Kaylee answered, holding up her comm toy. "I got Simon on the line."

_Simon_. Kaylee was calling the doc by his first name.

_("Don't go workin' too hard on that crush, mèi-mei," he says as he spreads the blanket over her. She's lying on the gurney in the infirmary, cold from blood loss…)_

Mal shook the fragment from his head. _She's fine,_ he told himself. _She's fine and I'm not insane. There has to be some reason for all this._

The dizziness threatened him again, so he took to studying the transports they passed, taking in details in an effort to focus his thoughts. But here was yet another thing amiss, something concrete. The ships were too fancy: new models, many of them luxury types. The other folks in the lot were also out of place. Well-heeled, too much so for Persephone. Then Mal got a good look at the ID tag on one of the parked ships–

He stopped, looking at Zoë but pointing at the tag.

"Why's that thing think it's on Londinium?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Zoë asked, all innocent ignorance that he saw right through.

"That transport. Registered in Southbourne City, Londinium. That one too!" Mal walked on, checking more tags: all of them were Londinium. Every damn one – and they weren't interplanetary travelers.

"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew as soon as we stepped out." He turned to Zoë. "This don't smell like Persephone – which normally I would be more than happy about, but right now I'm kind'a curious as to how we got to the Core."

Zoë and Kaylee looked at each other uncomfortably and didn't venture an answer.

"Last I recall," he continued, "We were a few hours out of Persephone, on our way further out toward Whitefall. Now we're on Londinium?"

"You're making a scene, sir," Zoë said, glancing at a curious passer-by.

"Damn right I am!"

"I told you – things may be odd today but I'll explain later. We need to finish this first. Trust me –"

"I am getting sick of hearing that!" Mal snapped.

"So what else are you gonna do?" Zoë said, her cool beginning to crack. "There's no possible explanation for it, nothing I can give you quick. Yes, we're on Londinium. But it's all right. Just trust me!"

She held his eye long enough to tell him that that was all he'd get from her, and Mal turned away. Trust – trust was fine, and he had that for Zoë. But all of this… The preacher and the Tam girl acting like they knew something he didn't. Kaylee shot but not really, then acting like she's scared to swap a few words with him. The fugitive doctor, setting up jobs. The sudden change of location. The sudden change of clothes. He should remember dressing himself, right? How did he not recall something as basic as that?

It wasn't possible. It simply was not possible – unless he was insane.

For a few seconds, he thought that really must be the case. But then a new idea come to him, bringing a welcome rush of relief. There's a place where the impossible can happen, where oddness like what he was seeing could happen.

He was dreaming.

He wasn't insane, and his crew wasn't playing games with him. He was just asleep, dreaming.

Mal exhaled audibly, letting his tension go, then he found himself laughing softly as he turned in place, giving this world a long look. It all fit now.

"It's so gorramn real," he said to himself. And it was; he couldn't remember a dream being so sensory. The air felt soft and warm on his face, carrying both the pleasant scents from the flowerbeds and the flatter odors of pavement and just a hint of engine exhaust. And the light of the sun – it was clear and golden. "Not like it usually is…" he murmured.

"Pardon me?" Zoë asked.

Mal smiled at her. "Most times, the light's different. Kind'a hazy."

"What are you talkin' about, sir?"

"Dreams. Usually they're not so… sharp." He didn't much care what Zoë thought about his words. After all, this wasn't really Zoë. Just like that wasn't really Kaylee. He looked toward the hospital.

"So we're going there?" he asked, pointing to the entrance. He studied it thoughtfully. "I wonder why a hospital…"

No one answered, so he shrugged and started toward the building, curious as to what he'd find. As he walked, he looked up at the clear blue sky. In a strange way, he felt more awake than he had in some time. He couldn't get over the brightness of the sun, and sweet clarity of the air. A light breeze ruffled trees that grew in intervals through the lot, stirring leaves the lush dark green hue of late summer. They flipped to show their light green undersides, and the trees appeared to shimmer.

"So real," he whispered. It was nearly overwhelming to feel so _aware_, but at least it wasn't a bad dream. He'd had plenty of those, and was no hurry to revisit a one of them.

That thought gave him a moment's worry when he reached the hospital's entrance, but all he found inside the doors was a regular hospital front desk and waiting room. Neat and tidy, people busy going to and fro, hardly a one even noticing him. No nightmares here.

A dull-faced woman at the front desk gave him an expectant look, and he just smiled and tipped his cap at her. "Afternoon, ma'am," he said cheerfully. She gave him a confused frown in return, but he wasn't bothered. It didn't matter. None of it did, not here.

He realized that he didn't know where to go, and turned back to find that Kaylee and Zoë had followed him, and were both watching him close. They didn't say a thing, but Zoë nodded to Kaylee. The girl held her chin up and shoulders back as she passed Mal by, walking upright and confident through the lobby. He followed contentedly, Zoë beside him. He liked the idea of this Kaylee-like person leading him to whatever his subconscious mind had to show.

He laughed suddenly, feeling giddy. It earned him a nudge in the ribs from Zoë. "This is a stealth dream, sir," she said. "A dream of being quiet and _blending in_." She just about hissed those last two words, but it only made Mal laugh again.

"That's so like you, Zoë," he said. "Sayin' something like that."

Zoë glared at him. Again, it was so very like her.

They got on a lift with a few strangers, and Mal stayed quiet while they rode to one of the upper levels. They were the only ones to get off where they did, and Dream Guide Kaylee led them along a main corridor and into a small side hallway, coming to a stop before a closed door. A sign claimed with a kind of understated pride that this was the _3-D Holo-Imaging Suite. _

For some reason he couldn't begin to fathom, the words made Mal hesitate, but Kaylee got the door open before he could think much on it. She entered the room in a hurry, like there were tasks to be done. Mal followed at a more casual pace, ready to find out what new thing his dreaming mind had to show him.

It wasn't pleasing.

This was a place he'd been in before; he knew it full well and he knew sure as the Black is cold that he didn't want to be here again. His steps slowed when he heard the door shut behind him. A tightness grabbed hold of his gut, an ache of dread and claustrophobia.

He couldn't put any reason or definition on it. Just like every gorramn thing that'd happened since he'd woken up (but not really woken up?) in the cargo bay, he couldn't find any good reason for what he felt. Even so, he couldn't ignore it; self-preservation wouldn't allow him.

With an effort, he pushed the fear down and tried to at least reason this out. It was the the shape of the room that bothered him, and the color. It was almost familiar… but not from this angle.

He looked up, and it came to him.

_(A big beige circle in front of him, with black in the middle. Lights all around, not so bright. Warm, soft lights.)_

Slowly, he walked toward the center of the room, still looking up.

_(The black is the ceiling; it's a round room, beige walls, very clean. He's lying on his back.) _

His thigh bumped against something and he looked down – a reclining chair, right in the center of the room. He'd been in this chair once. Strapped down.

_(Strapped down, unable to move. An IV stand next to him. A globe, an image of something round and wrinkled and pink floating above his head.) _

The ache in his gut rose, turning into panic that quickened his breath and tightened his throat. He heard a light tapping of fingers – Kaylee was standing at a control board, her hands busy. There was a machine here, this whole gorramn thing was a machine, and she was running it.

He shook his head. That woman was nothing like his Kaylee. His Kaylee wouldn't do to him what was done before.

But what the hell had been done before?

"Captain," Zoë said, startling him. She was right behind him, close enough to touch, and he found himself wanting to back away for her.

That wasn't Zoë.

"You all right?" she asked coolly, like they were doing some everyday job instead of sinking through a dream into a nightmare.

"What happened here?" he asked tightly. He didn't recognize his own voice.

She didn't answer. Mal looked down at the chair, then winced as the ghost of a sharp pain lanced into the back of his neck. It intensified and he gasped, pressing a hand against his head. It was like a hot needle going into the base of his skull, burning its way into him. He closed his eyes as the pain lit up pictures in his head, quickly passing images that he couldn't make sense of.

_(A green ball of fire streaks through the Black, striking _Serenity_ toward the aft end of her cargo bay section…)_

_(The Shepherd crouches over him, his angry face lit crimson by distant fires. "That is why you are Damned," he says…)_

_(Mal is bound to a chair. All is lost – he's beaten and broken, and can't bear to look down at Kaylee's still body on the floor … )_

_(Impossibly, someone is in the darkness with him; it's the doctor's sister. "This isn't real," she tells him. "They're playing with your mind...") _

Mal opened his eyes when he felt a touch on his shoulder. He'd fallen to his knees, one arm wrapped around his aching head, the other holding the reclined chair so he wouldn't collapse completely. Zoë was talking to him, but he couldn't make out her words. He slapped her hands back, then somehow got to his feet. He was reeling, hardly able to balance, but he pushed away from the chair. He wasn't going to that place again, the place where all those things could happen.

"Have to leave," he muttered. "Wake up…"

He moved toward the door, but Zoë was in his way. _Not Zoë,_ he thought. He pushed her aside, shoving her as hard as he could.

"You stay away from me!" he said, nearly shouting the warning at her.

He hardly took another step toward the door when she caught his arm. The gorramn woman was as strong as the real Zoë; she spun him around and he didn't have a chance to dodge the hard blow of her fist against his cheek.

o-o-o

_He floats stationary in the remains of a long-dead carrier, holding himself in place with one hand on a torn beam. Weightlessness can be a pleasant thing, easy and comfortable and free, especially out in the empty Black with only the distant scattering of stars as company. It's not a bad way to pull a job, not a bad place to be._

_He notices that he has a little more company than those distant points of light. Zoë and Jayne are with him, and even with the bulky space suits covering them, he can sense their tension. He follows their fixed stares, and when he sees the approaching cruiser it all clicks into place. He recalls the situation: someone is encroaching on the job. A big, nasty someone. _

"_Wash – they slowin' down?" Mal asks through his suit's comm._

That's a neg,_ Wash replies. _Don't think they're interested in us. We should be eating wake in a minute or two.

_Mal tries to swallow back his bitterness. Of course the bastards on the cruiser aren't interested. If they were, they'd have been out here months ago, when the carrier blew, when it might have made a difference for those who choked on vacuum. But that ain't the way of the Alliance; they don't give a damn about dead shippers or a few abandoned crates of protein. The Feds sure as hell will bust him for trying to salvage it, though. That's what the Law's for, after all, not to protect, but to control. Make a whole passel of rules and punish those who break them, without reason or mercy._

_The cruiser reaches its nearest point, then starts to pass by, and Mal feels a second's cautious relief. _Serenity_ is docked on the back side of the wreck, and it appears that the Alliance hasn't seen her. _

_But then Wash calls out over the comm: _Captain, we're humped!

"_Prep the ship now," Mal orders without hesitation, then he points to the crates. "We move these in," he tells Zoë and Jayne. "Double time."_

_In a matter of seconds, they each have a crate and push off, moving quickly through the wreck towards _Serenity_. Mal glances at the cruiser; it's slowing down, but a beast like that doesn't stop on a whim. It's moved further past them, and he should have a good long minute to get onboard and clear out. The only problem is pursuit._

"_Cry, baby, cry," he chants to Wash._

Make your mother sigh_, Wash replies. _Engaging the crybaby.

_Mal clears the body of the carrier and sees _Serenity_ waiting, the outer doors of her cargo bay wide open. He looks back over his shoulder – a swarm of fighters are coming out from the bottom of the cruiser, heading toward him. It's gonna be tight, and if the Feds don't fall for the crybaby he's really up the creek. The bad kind of creek._

_Almost there, he thinks impatiently. Just a few seconds…_

"Captain?"

Mal groaned, confused. Zoë's voice should be tinny, sounding through speakers in the helmet of his spacesuit.

"Sir – you awake?"

"Wide," he replied, though he clearly wasn't. "They get us?"

"Who, sir?"

"Alliance."

"No. But they might if we don't get to movin'."

Mal tried to sit up, but when he opened his eyes he realized that he was already sitting, propped up between Zoë and Kaylee, looking across a wide, empty room at a closed door. Kaylee was wiping at his chin and bottom lip with her sleeve. He weakly pushed her hands away so he could figure out what she was so eager to clean up.

Blood. It was all in his mouth too; he could taste it. He found a rough spot on the inside of his cheek – the kind you get when your teeth dig in just right.

"Someone hit me?" he asked, incredulous.

"Fraid so," Zoë replied. "Need to clean it up – can't have anyone seein' that."

Kaylee swiped at him again, and Mal let her. "I'm… a mite puzzled," he said blearily.

"Don't worry, Captain," Kaylee said, though her own voice quivered. She looked rattled herself, but smiled at him bravely. "We'll get you back to the ship and patch you up right."

"That's good," Zoë said to Kaylee. The two women pulled him to his feet, then held him as he wavered. Mal's vision filled with black clouds, and he let his head drop, trying to get some blood into his brain. Slowly, his equilibrium returned, but it took him a moment to realize that the blue-clad body he was staring down at was his own. Blue vest. Familiar for a fleeting second, but he wasn't sure…

Ah-ha: the patch on his chest meant _medic._

"Costume party?" he asked.

"Ain't much of a party, Captain," Kaylee replied, trying to joke but sounding too worried to carry it off.

"No time to explain, sir," Zoë said. "We need to clear out of here. Now."

Kaylee gently set a cap on his head, blocking Mal's hands when he went to knock it off. He gave up as they led him toward the door; it wasn't any kind of door he'd find on his ship, but it was familiar. Just like the blue suit was oddly familiar. Something about the shape of the walls, too, and that he found troubling.

They reached the door and Kaylee slid it open. Mal tried to turn back to see what kind of place they were leaving, but Zoë put a hand on his back and pushed him out.

"It ain't important, sir," she said. "Just go."

Mal was powerless to do anything more than follow where they led him. His thoughts were too scattered to allow for much besides trying not to bump into people who looked like they wouldn't react well to it, but he did manage to work out a few things by the time they rode a lift down several levels.

First: he wasn't the only one in the clown suit; Kaylee and Zoë were dressed to match. Second: they were in some kind of hospital, which led to third: the medic outfits were disguises.

A job?

A rescue?

They stepped out into a sunny late summer day and Mal let the matter go – Zoë'd fill him in eventually, no doubt. For now, he just wanted out of this place. He wanted his feet firmly planted on the deck of his own ship.

Even so, one more tidbit worked its way into his overloaded brain as they crossed the parking lot: this wasn't some crappy clinic out on the Rim. There was a hustle and a sparkle to the place, and to the people and the transports, that said _Core._

He was still pondering that when they reached a familiar craft: it was one of his ship's shuttles. Zoë took the pilot's chair, which Mal was fine with. He was disoriented, and had no memory of where they needed to go from here. He took the co-pilot's seat, sitting forward with his head in his hands.

He ached, and it felt like more than a punch to the jaw.

"Was I in that hospital for a reason?" he asked.

"We don't have far to go, sir," Zoë said. "Just hang on, all right?"

Mal nodded, and stayed silent for the trip, trying to will the pain and the befuddlement away. He had little time to make progress; it wasn't but five minutes before he heard the docking arm grab hold of the shuttle. Zoë turned to Kaylee immediately.

"Get that disk to Simon," she ordered. Kaylee glanced at Mal with an expression of worry, then nodded and hurried away.

Mal felt a wave of relief when he stepped off the shuttle into his own cargo bay. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he couldn't depend on any door to lead him where it should. It seemed like there could be a nightmare hiding around any corner, like he couldn't trust reality to behave properly.

His relief grew when he followed Zoë up a flight of stairs which led, as they should, into the upper corridor, and the corridor opened on the dining room. But then, as if he had some kind of precognition, he found the bit of surreal he'd known was waiting for him. He stopped just inside the hatch to work it out.

A small party was gathered at the table, and _party_ was certainly the right word for it. A few unopened presents sat on the table next a pile of half burnt candles and a cake. Slices of the treat sat on plates in front of three people – their faces were like the room he'd woke up in and the blue suit he was wearing: almost familiar, but after a second's study the recognition went away. Mal became certain that he'd never seen them before.

One of the faces drew his attention – the young man seemed the most likely to be a threat. He was neat and well-groomed, wearing a fancy silk vest and looking like he'd never worked a hard day in his life. He'd clearly been born to ease and privilege, and Mal'd wager he was a straight arrow who worshiped the kind of rules any properly sane person would shun: the Alliance rules. Here was somebody Mal didn't like and didn't trust, and sure as hell didn't want on his ship.

Mal was about to voice his opinion when the young man smiled, his posture relaxing as he bent to talk to another of the strangers, a young girl. The party seemed to be for her sake; she had a silly hat on, all purple sparkles with green metallic tinsel hanging off it. But she didn't look jovial; she was the only one of the three who took obvious notice of Mal's arrival – she stared at him with a kind of heartbreak on her face that made Mal hesitate, made him pause before he lit in to these trespassers.

"Jayne and Wash back yet?" Zoë asked, going into the room like there was nothing at all unusual about the scene. Mal was set back again as he worked out the meaning of her question – apparently, these folks had been having their little celebration with not a single other soul on board.

"Not yet," the third of the strangers replied, an old man with gray hair tied tightly back. "In the meantime, it just happens to be River's birthday, and Simon's been saving this for her."

The old man motioned toward the cake, and started to offer Zoë a slice, but she wasn't interested.

"You'll have to finish the party later," she said, then nodded to the fancified young man. "Simon, Kaylee's lookin' for you. She's got the scanner results, and I want you to check them soon as you can."

Mal finally stepped down into the room."Excuse me," he said, "But could y'all maybe explain – "

"Not now," Zoë said, cutting him off impatiently. "Simon, go."

"I guess you'll have to finish without me," the young man said. "Happy birthday, River." He kissed the girl on the top her head. She was still staring at Mal, a look of absolute misery on her face.

The man headed toward the aft hatch as if he had full run of the ship, and that's when Mal's paralysis broke.

"Enough!" he announced loudly. "You. Simon." The young man stopped and turned, a questioning look on his face, but nothing like the fear he should be feeling when the ship's owner and captain showed up in the middle of his festivities.

Mal pointed a hard finger at him, then at the table. "Sit," he ordered firmly.

To his increasing annoyance, the man didn't move, just looked to Zoë, who gave him a small nod. "Go on," she said softly. "I'll handle it."

"The hell you will!" Mal replied, and the man froze again. "Now, I do appreciate merry-making as much as the next captain, but… who the hell are you people, and how'd you get on my ship?"

Before anyone could answer, Kaylee appeared in the aft hatch. "There you are, Simon!" she said, then she noticed the trappings on the table and her face lit up. "Oh! You started without me!" She handed something to Simon – a data disk – then trotted toward the table, opening her arms to the girl. "Happy birthday, River!"

"Would you all… just cut it out!" Mal said, stepping further into the room.

Zoë walked over to meet him, clearly meaning to get in his way. "Simon," she said as she went, "you go look at those scans. Don't stop until you figure what is wrong with Mal 'cause I can't take this gōushī one gorramn more day. Captain, come with me."

Mal pulled away so she couldn't grab his arm. "Ain't gonna happen," he said through clenched teeth. "Zoë, you need to tell me what the – "

A harried voice coming out of the pocket of Zoë's vest interrupted him: _Zoë Zoë Zoë! _Wash yelled. _Get her warmed up – we gotta run! _

o-o-o

Translations  
sāobī: bitch  
shén me?: pardon me?  
dŏng ma: understand?  
tāmā de: fuck me blind  
gōushī: crap  
qiǎo miào: ingenious  
mèi mei: little sister


	10. Chapter 10 of 14: Inara

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Inara**

_Inara feels an moment's disorientation when she wakes up. The familiar hum of _Serenity_'s engines is absent, and she tries to recall what port the ship landed at. It isn't until she sees faint shards of evening light coming through gaps around heavy curtains that she remembers where she is – back in the House._

_She switches off the alarm clock, which is only ten minutes short of waking her from her nap, then pushes the covers back. It's easier to get out of bed now that she's planetside; the air is warm and soft on her skin. It's a great improvement over the chill dryness of a transport ship's artificial atmosphere. _

_Inara sighs. These comparisons are nearly constant, though she's been settled into her old life for more than two weeks. It's going to take a long time for the memories of her time in the Black to fade, but they will. In time. She has to believe this._

_She begins her preparations, falling easily into her old routine. She showers under torrents of hot water, something she can't seem to get enough of since she returned, then stands naked before the mirror, applying makeup and arranging her hair into a loose knot held by a pair of silver chopsticks. She feels like she's doing her toilette as she always has, but when she checks the clock she realizes that she'd taken much too long. Her client will be here soon._

_Perhaps she's been using more than her usual care – the man who will be at her door in a few minutes is important to her, and she wants to look her best. But she doesn't have time to take care choosing her outfit. Just as well, she thinks with a small smile as she pulls out the first garment her hand touches. He probably wouldn't notice the difference between any of them anyway. He's never been fond of finery. The black and red dressing gown will do; she slips into it and hurries to prepare the room, heating water and setting out the tea service. She just has everything ready when a knock sounds on the door._

_It feels like it's been ages since she's seen him, but he looks exactly as she remembers. He hasn't dressed up, although the social standards of this city are stringent, and he must have been the object of many a censorious stare on his way here. He's never been one for show, something that annoys her but, she must admit, also draws her to him. _

_Brown hair hangs over his forehead, giving him a slightly disheveled appearance that she finds disconcerting. Even more troubling are his eyes, a deep blue, and they crinkle as he grins at her._

"_Miss Serra," he says, drawing her name out with just a hint of a drawl._

"_Hello, Mal," she replies._

"_I took the trouble of knockin', I think you can call me Captain Reynolds," he says as he steps in, his presence filling the room. His wide grin reveals that his attitude is light-heartedly flippant. "Makes me feel important, havin' a title." He runs his thumb behind his suspenders, puffing out his chest as an important man should._

_She smiles, feeling absurdly buoyant at hearing his voice and seeing that silly gesture of his. "Of course, Captain," she says, then she steps back and motions with one hand toward the settee and tea table. "Please, have a seat."_

_He ignores the offer, just tilts his head and looks at her. Not her body, but her face. His eyes linger while his smile fades. _

"_I ain't here for tea," he says softly._

"_It's part of the custom…" she tells him, but stops when he steps closer. She's forgotten the intensity of his stare, forgotten how his eyes can cut into her. She backs away; she can't help herself._

"_I ain't ever been good with those custom things," he says, his voice low. He's close enough that she can feel the heat of him. Her back touches the wall and she raises her hands to his shoulders, trying to hold him where he is, trying to keep him distant._

"_This is my world, Mal," she says sternly, hoping the weakness inside her doesn't show. "You have to behave by my rules here."_

"_Customer's always right," he says. "And this time, I'm a customer." _

_He cocks an eyebrow but his grin is completely gone. His eyes seem darker; the weight of his gaze causes a quiver in the bottom of her belly. Still he focuses on her face, like she's cool water to him and he's been in a desert since she left his ship. He doesn't look down, but his hands find her hips, and then he's working her skirt up, bunching the fabric in his fists._

"_About that payment thing," he says, and his eyes finally break away from hers to travel down her neck. "You know I ain't much for carryin' a bundle of cash." He leans over, his breath tickling her throat, and then his lips touch the skin that his eyes and breath just warmed. It contrasts the cool air that whispers on her bare thighs as her skirt hitches higher. _

"_Mal – "_

"_I'll be payin' you in something else," he says, his voice deep. "Something I think you need more than you need coin."_

_Inara doesn't ask. She knows, but she doesn't want to hear it; it'll only make everything more difficult in the end._

"_Take your hair down," he whispers against her ear. She holds his shoulders still, needing the support as his fingers travel downward. She whimpers at the pleasure of it, but this isn't how it was supposed to happen. This isn't what she planned._

"_It's… my world," she stammers. "You can't just… do this."_

"_Take your gorramn hair down." His voice is soft and gentle against her ear, but it's an order. There's no mistaking that. "Do it, Inara. Now."_

_His fingers and solid heat of his body are impossible to deny. She reaches up with both hands, pulls the silver chopsticks out of her hair, and feels the slightly damp curls fall over her shoulders. Mal leans into her, nuzzling against her neck again and inhaling like he's taking in her scent._

It's my world,_ she insists to herself._ It's the life that I chose. He doesn't belong here, and I don't want him.

_She steels herself, and then it's like she's watching from a distance, feeling her fingers work on their own, reversing the chopsticks in her hands. Suddenly, Mal releases her and takes a small step back, as if he knows what she's going to do and wants to make it easier for her. She puts her thumbs over the head of the chopsticks, clutches them tightly, and drives them both into his chest._

_Mal hardly moves, not even shaken by the blow. He looks down at the blood welling out of his body, thoughtfully, curiously, and then he shakes his head and looks up at her. His eyes are sad._

"_I guess what I got ain't good enough for you," he says. "Never was, never will be." _

_Then he falls away from her, pitching back into darkness._

o-o-o

House Madrassa, Sihnon

Inara sat up with a gasp. She immediately realized that she'd been dreaming, but she was slower to catch on to anything more. As she did every time she woke, she listened for the noise of the engines, the quiet background hum that had been lulling her to sleep for more than a year. When she didn't hear it, she tried to remember what port the ship had landed at.

Then it finally came to her – she'd left. She'd come back to the House. That much of her dream was true.

The evening light around the heavy curtains was also alarmingly familiar, and for a few confused seconds she thought it might all happen again. She had to crawl out of her bed and go to the cortex to call up the profile of this evening's client. She needed to see him, to stare until his features were imprinted in her mind, replacing the face that wouldn't leave her alone. She needed to repeat her client's name until it stuck: Ellis. Not Mal. Never Mal. She'd never see Mal again.

She went to the bathroom. Her reflection shocked her; her skin had an unhealthy, pale cast, and her eyes were wide and frightened, as if she was being hunted. She looked away quickly.

Her shower and the following preparation took exactly as long as they should; she bypassed the chopsticks on the bathroom shelf, choosing a pair of shell combs instead. She dressed quickly – this time truly not caring what she wore – lit incense, and heated water for tea.

She was soon sitting on the settee, silently waiting for her client to arrive. The dream had faded, except for the look on Mal's face when she'd stabbed him. Sad, but resigned, as if it didn't matter that his heart's blood was draining away. It stung her. That kind of expression should never appear on Mal's face. He should never give up and accept pain.

She surprised herself by starting at the knock on her door. There was no reason to be nervous, she reasoned. This may be the first client she'd accepted since she'd returned to the Core, but she'd seen him before. He'd visited her a half a dozen times before she left, and she'd always enjoyed her time with him. He'd been comfortable and unhurried while they had tea, and was similarly comfortable and unhurried as a lover. It was a good place for her to start.

"Welcome, Ellis," she said with a fixed smile as she opened the door. The man waiting there looked surprisingly aged, considering that it'd only two years since she'd seen him. He'd gone gray at the temples, and the lines around his eyes had deepened.

"Inara."

He lifted her hand to his lips, and she noticed the softness of the skin of his hands, the neatness of his manicured nails.

She led him into her parlor and poured tea. It was a pleasure to have the ceremony in a separate room, without the bed waiting a few steps away. She felt better able to focus on reacquainting herself with the man, without the distraction of the activity to follow. They could build up to that.

Ellis filled her in on the progress of his business, of the changes in his life since she'd last seen him. This part of the appointment was often the most interesting to her. These little snapshots of her client's lives, the experiences they had and the transformations that took place over time, were fascinating to her. She liked to be aware of her clients in this way, to see and share in the challenges they faced.

He asked about her life, about what had kept her away from Sihnon for so long, and she entertained him with a few greatly censored tales. He found them amusing, as he should. It seemed surreal now, the time she'd spent out in the wilds of the Black. An adventure, a cleansing ceremony, a time of rebirth. And she had returned a new person, ready to continue where she'd been interrupted over two years ago.

She knew it was time when Ellis set his mug down, his mien turning serious. She slid closer to him for a kiss. His hands began to travel over her body, so she caught his arms and led him toward the bedroom.

"Gods, I've missed you," he whispered against her breast a while later, as he lay next to her on the bed. He was taking his time, even more than she remembered. He must also feel the need to reacquaint himself with her, to see if she'd changed at all.

Despite herself, it annoyed her.

"I've missed you, too," she replied warmly.

"There's no one like you." He looked at her face, and reached a hand up to stroke her cheek. "You're amazing." He suckled her nipple again, and his hand traveled down over her belly. "Gorgeous."

Maybe she should have started with someone different. Someone who'd finish quickly and without fuss, not leaving her so much time to think. To compare…

"You don't have to – " she started as he began to slide down her body, but he interrupted her.

"I want to." He grinned at her. "Just let me have my fun, and enjoy."

Inara opened her mouth to reply. _This isn't for my pleasure,_ she wanted to say. _This is about you getting what you need. Get what you paid for and go away._

The thought shamed her and she dropped her head back, closing her eyes and trying to convince her body to let go. One of the most basic lessons for a Companion to learn: to please a client, you must make it real. Let Ellis know you chose him, make him feel wanted, convince him that his desire _means_ something to you.

The difference between a Companion and a whore…

His hands were on her thighs. _I want this,_ she told herself. _He offered and I want this. _

She'd been offered it before – recently. Inara pulled her head up, looking down at the slightly graying but well ordered hair on Ellis's head. She pictured brown hair and blue eyes, watching her with an intensity she hadn't had the courage to look at.

Blessed Buddha, she should have looked.

Inara sat up halfway, and she couldn't stop her hands from moving to Ellis's head. She clutched his hair lightly, and froze when she realized that she wanted to push him away.

"Stop," she whispered.

He looked up at her. "It's all right," he said. "I want to make you feel good – " He reached for her cheek again, but she pushed his hand away.

"Please, just stop!" she said louder. He froze, and the shock in his eyes made her regret her words, but it was too late to mend this now.

"I can't," she gasped, and before she knew it she was up, grabbing a robe and running from her suite like demons were behind her. "I just can't," she said again as she hurried down the hall, all the way to a familiar door.

It was unlocked, and she threw it open. The woman inside rose as soon as Inara came in. She looked at Inara's face, and without comment wrapped her long arms around her, stroking her back and shushing her sobs.

o-o-o

Fourteen Years ago

"_My name is Inara," she claims proudly. "Inara Serra."_

_She fights not to squirm as the black-skinned girl with the wide eyes stares at her. Usually, Inara's confident in her ability to charm strangers, but this girl's face has a wisdom that almost promises rejection. _

_However, the girl's words, when they finally come, are kind. "You're very pretty," she says. "What are your origins?"_

"_Pardon me?" Inara asks._

"_You're almost Persian," the girl says, "with your skin and hair. It's very nice. Yes, you might do quite well."_

_Inara straightens; this girl is the first student of the Companion House she's met, and she's happy to have made a good impression. The Guild is her life now, and she's going to make everything she can of it. Things are going to be very different for her from now on. That is – as long as she doesn't fail, doesn't do something wrong and end up squandering this incredible opportunity. _

_Her sudden fear makes her resort to bragging. "I expect I'll get dozens, if not hundreds, of clients," she claims, trying to sound bored about it, just like her friend Sylvia used to talk when she made big claims. But Inara doesn't get the reaction she expects; the dark-skinned girl just laughs. She laughs in a way Inara hasn't often seen – the girl falls into a deep blue divan set against the wall, and doesn't bother to cover her open mouth as her amusement rolls past her shining white teeth and into the room._

"_What?" Inara demands. "Why is that so funny?"_

"_Oh…" The girl sits up and wipes her eyes. "Inara, you must not talk like that, or you'll have no chance here. You must be more than a pretty face. You must have character, and pride only where you have earned it."_

"_You know?" Inara demands._

"_I have been here for almost a year," the girl says, and for the first time Inara notes the odd lilt of her speech. She's never heard anything like it. The girl's words are crisp and sharp, but still roll like a song._

"_Where are you from?" Inara asks. "What's your name?"_

"_My name is Lina, and I am from the Ibengwe Colonies on Londinium."_

_Inara has never heard of that place, and doesn't know what to say. Lina watches her for a moment, then sighs as her face turns more serious. "I do not know if I will ever have hundreds of clients," she says, "but that is not my purpose here."_

_Lina loses herself in thought, still draped over the silken fabric of the divan. Inara is not comfortable with luxury, so she's more careful when she takes a seat next to this amazing girl. She'd hate to damage the chair, or do anything stupid on her first day. But then she takes a deep breath and makes herself recline – she lives here now, and if she succeeds the way she plans to, she'll be surrounded with beautiful things for all the rest of her life. _

"_So then, why are you here?" Inara asks._

"_I love people," Lina says, a smile warming her face. "I love men, and I love sex."_

_Inara is startled by that. She knows that they're both only twelve years old, and, by the rules of the House, inexperienced. "But… you've never…"_

"_No," Lina says, then she adds with whole-hearted confidence, "But I'm going to love it someday."_

"_How do you know?" Inara asks._

"_Because I love people," Lina says, smiling like she thinks Inara's silly not to understand. "I love to share myself with people, let them appreciate what I have to give them. I have so much to give." She turns her lovely brown eyes on Inara. "That is what sex will be about – sharing what is the most beautiful about myself. Don't you think so?"_

_Inara stares at Lina with something close to adoration; they are the same age, but Lina has been here so much longer, and knows so very much more. _

_Inara must learn this kind of confidence. She must, in order to keep her place and never get sent back home. "Absolutely," she says, and she shyly takes Lina's hand in her own. Lina smiles, and Inara knows that she's made the first friend of her new life._

o-o-o

Inara woke up the next morning with a dark chocolate arms wrapped around her waist. She stroked one of her own hands over Lina's forearm, enjoying the way the woman's black skin made her own golden color appear milk-white. Then Lina stirred, and Inara felt soft lips on her cheek.

"Have you been here with me all this time?" Inara asked.

Lina smiled against her skin. "Mostly. I left to do damage control." Her voice was deep and soothing as always, the sharp d's and t's giving her speech a pleasing rhythm. Inara knew that Lina affected an even sharper accent when with her clients; it enhanced her exotic appearance.

Once, the history books said, there had been many people with skin a deep blue-black like Lina's, in a time when humans were separated by the wide seas of Earth-That-Was and mixing between the races was rare. But that was more than half a millennium ago, and now such a complexion was not often seen. It added to the Companion's popularity.

"Was the damage extensive?" Inara asked.

"There was no damage. Ellis was more worried about you then himself."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth."

Those two words brought Inara fully into wakefulness. Her body tensed, but another soft kiss on her cheek calmed her.

"Do not worry, Inara. I know no details. I only recognize the outcome."

"The outcome?"

"You are not ready."

Inara had no answer for such an obvious statement. She laid still, relaxing gradually as Lina's soft hand stroked her neck and shoulder.

"You are not ready to provide comfort," Lina said softly. "Are you ready to accept it?"

Light pressure on Inara's shoulder turned her onto her back, and she stared up into Lina's deep brown eyes, and she felt long fingers trail down her side.

"It is safe here, Inara. You have nothing to fear."

Inara smiled, knowing it was true, but she shook her head. "It's not you," she said. "I just – I have so much on my mind."

"I see. You need simple comforts."

Lina laid back down beside Inara, her touch nurturing and gentle, not sexual. Inara felt peace descend on her, a strange, distracted kind of peace. There was certainly a problem she would have to deal with, a darkness inside her, but there was no hurry to face it, not while she was here in the House. She would be allowed a great deal of time.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Lina asked softly.

"About what?"

"Him. The man you fell in love with."

Inara rolled toward Lina, letting her head rest against the woman's shoulder. "I had forgotten how năo huŏ Companions can be," she said wryly.

Her head shook as Lina laughed. "It does not take much skill to see it in you. You are in love, Inara. Even if it ended badly, is it not news worthy of sharing?"

Inara took a deep breath. Worthy of sharing? She'd call it worthy of forgetting, but it appeared that it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Not yet," she replied. "Eventually, but not yet."

o-o-o

Inara was spared any kind of official interview. Lina had spoken to the House Priestess, who allowed Inara time before she took another client. How much time wasn't stated, but the Guild didn't drive its members like chattel. Inara knew that no one doubted her devotion to her profession, and if she was having a rough spot, it would be understood, especially after the difficulties she'd faced before leaving the House a year and a half ago.

She canceled the other appointments she'd made, claiming to have a minor flu that she'd picked up on the Border worlds. Few excuses were so effective; although nearly all illnesses could be subdued by Core medicines, no logic could dispel the paranoia that Core residents felt toward the Border worlds. Inara was certain that none of her clients would be eager to share the air she breathed, not for at least a few weeks.

She welcomed the break. She'd have even more time to enjoy the luxuries of the House – the food and her comfortable suite, of course, but also the art studios and gardens, the tuī ná and biān masters, and the exercise room and pool.

Two days after her disastrous appointment with Ellis, Inara returned from swimming to find a letter waiting. This was nothing unusual – it was currently en vogue to send messages via the post, and she'd been receiving plenty of _welcome-back_'s and _get-well-soon_'s. But this one stood out from the rest. The envelope was small and made of coarse paper, and the handwriting was an uneven scrawl. There was no return address, but it had been post-marked on Londinium just the day before.

Inara put on a warm robe and made tea before she settled into her favorite chair, but once she opened the envelope and started reading, she forgot everything else.

_Dear Inara,_

_I hope you are settled down and happy to be back in the Core.  
__Are all your clients still there? Any of them bring you presents  
__because they missed you so much?_

_Looks like we are back to business how we used to do it. We  
__went by Persephone and the captain got some work from Badger. _

_It's gone good this time. Has so far anyhow, we ain't quite done  
__yet – things to sell. You wouldn't believe what we're selling! Or  
__maybe you would. But I shouldn't say too much – you know  
__how it is._

_I have kept myself busy. The new mule takes a lot of time. The  
__ship does too, but she's running good._

_I'm sure everyone would say hi if they knew I was writing. I  
__know R. misses you lots – I bet she wishes you was around to  
__talk to about woman things. That Jase kid scrambled her head.  
__But in a better way than usual ha-ha!_

_Guess that's about all for now. I gotta go. Cap's yelling at me  
__to get some work done. You know how he is! Well, he's the  
__same as always. Mostly._

_Love ya bunches!  
__Kaylee_

Inara read the letter through three times, then found herself staring at the last part: _…he's the same as always. Mostly. _

She dropped the letter in her lap with an exasperated breath. What was that supposed to mean? _Mostly._ If Kaylee'd had something to say, she should have made it plain. She shouldn't have just hinted…

Inara cut off her own rant – that wasn't fair. She could see Kaylee's meaning well enough, even if the mechanic was too kind to be blunt about it. The hurt Inara had done to Mal was bad enough that it was showing in him still, after three weeks. It was showing enough that Kaylee couldn't write without mentioning it.

Inara sighed and dropped her head against the back of the chair. Kaylee's reproach, mildly worded as it was, hit her hard.

_The same as always. Mostly… _

But what did that mean? What was Mal like? Inara could well imagine what his hurt would do to him: a bad mood that didn't end, curt words to his crew that would damage him as much – or more – than it did them. He wasn't one to be deliberately cruel, and he would feel guilt over every slight or undeserved scolding he handed out.

And even though the crew would know the reason behind his harshness, he wouldn't let them help him. He wouldn't show his hurt for what it was, he'd only isolate himself and hold his pain inside. Inara closed his eyes; she could feel his heartbreak in her own chest, and the feeling made her finally admit something she'd been avoiding for weeks:

_I broke his heart. He never said he loved me, but I know he did. And I broke his heart._

She set the letter on the table and rose, walking to the window of her suite. The worst of it was, she'd never have a chance to make amends. Mal would carry his hurt, and she would carry her guilt, for the rest of their lives. There was absolutely no chance for closure, no possibility for explanations. She'd never see him…

_The postmark_, she realized suddenly. _Londinium. _

She crossed the room quickly and picked up the envelope. The postmark was just as she remembered. _Serenity_ had been on Londinium, only yesterday...

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts; it was Lina.

"You have guests," the woman said without preamble.

"Oh, but…" Inara stopped, confused. Lina knew that she wasn't taking visitors.

"Alliance officials," Lina explained. "They insisted on seeing you. I can try to turn them away, but…"

"No, it's fine," Inara said. She felt a second's hollowness in her stomach, but she forced the feeling away. Here was something else she'd picked up while on _Serenity_ – an irrational fear of official authority. It was ridiculous for a Companion in good standing to have this reaction. It must be the letter from Kaylee getting to her, and her own regret over what she'd done to Mal.

But whoever these visitors were, she preferred seeing them to staying trapped in her own thoughts. She could use the distraction. "Just give me a moment to change," she told Lina, trying to sound serene.

Her "guests" were waiting in one of the small parlors near the House entrance. Inara paused before going in, taking a minute to gather her wits and subdue the turmoil Kaylee's letter had caused. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and entered the room.

Even with that preparation, she wasn't able to hide her surprise when she recognized the two people who rose to greet her.

"Agent Alvarez!" Inara said, and she struggled to regain her composure enough to shake the woman's hand, then the man's. "Agent Kain. Why are you on Sihnon?" She realized how abrupt her question sounded and tried to cover it. "I mean – I do hope it's time away from your duties. There are so many lovely sights to be seen." She managed what she hoped was a passable smile, but Kain didn't return it. He seemed to disapprove of the idea of time off.

"Of course not," he replied. "We are here on OPR business, to follow up on matters which have arisen since we interviewed you on Niflheim."

Inara took a seat and folded her hands in front of her. The Office of Professional Responsibility – the Alliance's version of corporate internal police – had shown a heavy hand when she'd encountered them before. After the hijacking, the two agents had attempted to use _Serenity_'s jaded past to coerce Inara into testifying against the woman behind the crime: Beyla Skuld.

"I told you everything about my time with the Skuld's already," she told Kain firmly. "I thought the matter was closed."

Alvarez took over from her dour partner. "It is closed. That case has moved on to prosecution; we're not concerned with the Skuld cartel any longer."

"Indeed?" Inara asked. She didn't think Alvarez would elaborate, but the woman did.

"The evidence is overwhelming. Beyla Skuld will likely live out her life in prison. A very comfortable prison, but locked up is locked up. Peter, however…" The woman fixed Inara with a piercing gaze, but her olive eyes were unreadable. "It may surprise you, Miss Serra, but during the investigation into Beyla Skuld's attempt to interfere with the lithium dubniate supply, we've found that some of her nephew's personal habits were… let's just say, distasteful. Not illegal, not on Niflheim –"

"And why is that?" Inara interrupted.

"Pardon me?"

"Do Alliance laws not apply to Niflheim?"

"Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction over domestic matters on planets with Settlement status. We can only do what is necessary to protect the broad economic and political well-being of the Alliance."

"It is a shame," Inara said pointedly, "that residents of Rim worlds don't merit the protection of our advanced and enlightened society." She spoke aggressively and against her better judgment – antagonizing these agents would do her no good – but she couldn't help it. She had always considered herself to be well-informed, but somehow she'd spent most of her life unaware of the hypocrisy rampant in certain of the Alliance's laws. She was angered by seeing such blatant evidence of it in the agent's attitude towards a man who preyed on children.

To Inara's surprise, Alvarez didn't take up the challenge. She didn't even disagree.

"It's unfortunate, but true," the woman said. "There is usually more behind our government's laws then the protection of human beings, but we do what we can.

"In the case of Peter Skuld, once we took a closer look at him, and especially since his Aunt's resources have been entirely focused on her own defense, it wasn't hard to find a long list of charges to bring against him. His habits in the Core weren't much different from his habits on Niflheim. Miss Serra, I hope you aren't too distressed to hear that he won't end in a _comfortable_ prison. He won't be popular with the prison population, either, once the nature of his crimes are known."

Inara sat quietly, not allowing herself to show any reaction. She wasn't sure why Alvarez was being so open – trying to win her trust, perhaps?

"There's something else I'd like to tell you," Alvarez continued. "The Verdande mining system has been shut down. The battleship from which we were operating is currently orbiting Niflheim, and members of the Environmental Assurance Department are carrying on an investigation of the Verdande harvesting equipment."

Again, Inara couldn't contain her surprise. "You mean… you're actually trying to stop him? You believed Beyla Skuld's accusation?"

"It seemed worth further study. Miss Serra, we're not monsters. The destruction of an entire planetary biosphere is a concern to us."

"But – you were adamant that I didn't speak of it. Beyond adamant – you threatened me!"

"I did no such thing," Alvarez said, her voice firm but her mouth betraying just a hint of a smile. "I merely advised you that the crew of _Serenity_ could be put under scrutiny. If you took that to be a threat, I suppose that says something about those people, and not about myself."

Inara couldn't find that near as amusing as Alvarez apparently did. "That's an _interesting_ interpretation– " she started, but Alvarez held up a hand.

"It's hardly important now; I said what was necessary at the time. Edward Verdande has supporters at all levels of the government. It was best to keep the matter secret until license was granted to shut down his operation and investigate the case. We couldn't give him any opportunity to destroy evidence. But that's enough of that. We should move on to why we're here."

"Please do," Inara said, though she felt more than a little reticent. The agents had thus far acted benign and cordial, but she was still suspicious of their true intentions.

Alvarez nodded to her partner, who powered up his tablet. "I suppose you had quite a few adventures during your time aboard _Serenity_," he said to Inara.

"Actually, most of it was on the dull side," she said, forcing herself to relax into an easy, conversational tone despite her alarm at his choice of subject matter. She was sensitive enough over that ship's crew already, she didn't need the added challenge of deciphering this man's intentions toward them. "The majority of our time was spent traveling between planets, and there isn't a great deal to do on such a small ship."

Kain found whatever he was looking for on the tablet; he studied it for a few seconds, then looked up at Inara. "A few months ago, _Serenity_ delivered a shipment of cargo to Oeneus. We'd like to hear about your experiences there."

Yet again, Inara found herself in the uncomfortable state of biting back surprise. "Agent Kain," she replied. "Perhaps you misunderstand my situation on the ship. I was quite separate from business. I spent the time on Oeneus with a client, not with the crew."

"Miss Serra, I did not ask about the ship's business, I asked about your own experiences. If you could just clarify the dates and times of your visit, any locations you and the crew of _Serenity_ visited, that would be helpful. Oh – " he added, as if it was an afterthought, "do you mind if I record this?"

"Record it? Am I testifying to something?"

"Of course not."

"Then I'd prefer you didn't."

"You have something to say which you'd prefer not to have on record?"

Inara covered her alarm with a long sigh. While on Oeneus, she and the crew had snuck Mal out of an Alliance jail - that was certainly one thing she didn't want to reveal. Was that they were interested in? But why now?

She could consider the implications of the agents' questions later. For now, she was suddenly wanting to get out of this room.

"Agent Alvarez, Agent Kain," she said in a firm voice. "I find myself in a familiar situation with you. However, the circumstances are quite different. There is no crime involved in what you're asking about." Kain opened his mouth at that, but then he caught Alvarez's eye and said nothing. Inara continued as if she hadn't seen the exchange. "I am a Registered Companion; I am not an agent of the OPR. If you are lacking in those, this House is not the best place to recruit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do."

"Miss Serra," Alvarez said as Inara stood, and the woman's tone was no longer friendly. "We can do this the hard way, as you should already know."

Inara stopped where she was, looking down on the two agents. "The hard way?" she asked. "Are you threatening me? Again?"

"We established that there was never a threat–"

"So doing this _the hard way_ means what? Buying me an ice cream cone?"

Alvarez's mouth quirked at that, but Kain showed no humor. "It means serving a warrant against you for abetting known terrorists in their actions against the Alliance," he said in a menacing tone. "Don't doubt that we'll do so, if you make it necessary."

"Really?" Inara replied, turning toward him. "Then why haven't you already?"

Kain took a breath to reply, but he stopped when Alvarez touched his arm. He snapped his mouth shut and sat back with a glower on his face.

Alvarez sighed before she replied to Inara's question; her voice had none of Kain's aggression, but neither was there any waver of doubt. She believed in what she was doing, Inara saw. She believed it beyond any doubt.

"Miss Serra, we are aware of the scandal that bringing charges against a woman of your stature would cause, the attention it would draw. We'd prefer to keep this matter as quiet as possible. But we need you to answer our questions. If you force us to, we can charge you with a crime. We can arrest you and take you from this House in cuffs."

Inara opened in mouth in amazement, but Alvarez continued unruffled.

"However, you aren't our target, and we really don't wish to go to that extreme. Why don't you answer my partner's simple questions and stop complicating this. We're not here to bring you trouble, and your obvious paranoia is unwarranted. Our purpose is actually quite noble, as it was when we spoke to you on Niflheim. In any case, as servants of the government that protects you and your way of lie, I believe we deserve your trust and cooperation."

Inara swallowed hard; she strongly disagreed, but wasn't about to explain herself. She saw quite clearly that she would learn no more from these two, and what she really needed now was time and space to think this over. She had to end this interview before she said anything that might send these people after Mal – if they weren't after him already.

She stepped closer to the table. "I am a Registered Companion," she said firmly. "My dealings with my clients are protected under Alliance law, and none of your business. If you wish to challenge that, and turn this matter into a public episode, that is your choice. But it would be a waste of your time and effort."

Inara turned her back; to her relief, the agents didn't try to prevent her from leaving.

o-o-o

Inara hurried down the corridor, hoping to reach her quarters as quickly as possible. Lina was seated at the base of the stairs leading toward the residential suites, as if she'd been waiting. Inara slowed her steps and caught Lina's eye, then shook her head, tacitly asking to be left alone. Lina nodded and let Inara pass.

Once in her quarters, Inara returned to her chair and picked up Kaylee's letter.

_Looks like we are back to business how we used to do it. We  
__went by Persephone and the captain got some work from Badger.  
__It's gone good this time. Has so far anyway. We ain't done yet.  
__Things to sell._

Inara had to fight not to tighten her hands on the paper and crinkle it into a wad. Just yesterday – they'd been on Londinium just a day ago. So close! But why? Had this job of Badger's sent them there on his business? Could they still be in the Core?

Inara looked at the cortex screen just across the room from her. It'd be so easy to send a wave… She started to rise to her feet before she realized how stupid that would be. A wave sent from her quarters to _Serenity_, right after the meeting she'd just had with the OPR, would surely be noticed.

She could leave the House then, find an anonymous terminal, place the wave carefully so that it wouldn't be tracked. It would take some effort. Inara had learned much in her time abroad – she understood now that making an anonymous wave might not be as easy as she'd once supposed. A government that could do what it'd done to River would think nothing of its citizen's personal privacy. And an organization willing to threaten criminal charges against a Registered Companion wouldn't hesitate to have her followed.

She settled back into her chair. She couldn't let herself be hasty about this. She was overly emotional, and not thinking straight. Alvarez and Kain might not even have been concerned with _Serenity_ in particular. It could be they were after her client on Oeneus, Chairman Yeng, or someone associated with him. If she let her guilt and concern for Mal get the better of her, she could actually bring trouble to him. She'd already reacted with enough defensiveness...

Perhaps she needed to be clearer about her own intent. What good would it do to contact Mal? What did she mean to tell him? That the Alliance was interested in what had happened on Oeneus? That they may be out to question him, too? There wouldn't be anything he could do about it, and if he was really in the Core, they must have found him by now.

Would he even take her wave? Too clearly, Inara could remember the last time she'd seen him, the frozen, bitter look on his face as he stared down from the catwalk. And it wasn't just him – Zoë's eyes had been full of anger and blame as she gave Inara a cold, hard handshake. Even Kaylee... this letter was short and forced, lacking the girl's usual warm chatter, hinting at discomfort rather then fondness. Inara had to make herself face up to the truth: she was no longer welcome on _Serenity_. She had no right to send waves to any of them, and the fate of that ship and crew were not hers to decide.

She folded Kaylee's letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Whatever trouble might or might not be brewing around Malcolm Reynolds wasn't her business any longer. It wasn't her doing, and she had no power to remedy it. Mal was a grown man, a man with a history of slipping out of tight spots. He'd be able to face this new situation, whatever it was, with the help of his crew. Inara couldn't let herself be drawn into his problems. She'd left him, and she wasn't ever going back.

She realized that she was holding the envelope against her chest, clutching it in both hands. Slowly, she loosened her fingers, then set the letter aside.

o-o-o

Battleship _Argent_, Niflheim orbit

Lieutenant Brady cleared his throat uncomfortably before he replied to the man on the screen. "Yes, sir. I'm certain. It was Malcolm Reynolds. He gave us another name at first, but the OPR personnel identified the ship –"

"OPR?" the man said in surprise. He was calling from the Core, but the wave was top priority, taking over one of the ship's real-time feeds.

Brady explained, "OPR – the Office of Professional Resp– "

"I know who they are. They were involved?"

Lieutenant Brady gave a curt nod. "They were heading the mission. But Reynolds wasn't our target… Shall I send you the full report?"

"Please do. You didn't suspect anything of a man using a false name?"

Brady cleared his throat uncomfortably. This man he was speaking to was a civilian, but his identification granted him a frighteningly high level of clearance. He had free rein to change the mission of Brady's entire battleship if he saw fit. There was a lot of power behind a man who could order an Alliance ship around, and Brady wasn't comfortable with the impression he must be making.

"I thought it would be best to arrest Reynolds and his crew," Brady said, "but my instructions were to follow the orders the OPR representatives. They brokered a deal with the crew of the Firefly."

"What kind of deal?"

"I wasn't privy to the details, you'll have to talk to the OPR."

"I certainly will."

"Sir – is Reynolds actually a fugitive? Because, if so, I… I wasn't aware of his status."

The man on the cortex screen didn't respond, not verbally. He reached to the side, moving out of the view as he worked some controls. A few seconds later, a screen to Brady's left flashed as a transmission was received. It was an official notice that Malcolm Reynolds was to be captured and brought to an Alliance base in the Core; the reasons were classified. Brady felt the blood drain from his face as he considered the implications.

"But, sir," Brady protested, "this was issued… two days ago. It's been nearly three weeks since we released Reynolds."

The man either didn't notice or ignored Brady's defensiveness. "Do you know where he was heading when he left?"

"No, sir," Brady replied. The man sighed impatiently, and Brady continued, speaking quickly. "We provided transport to the Core for one of his crew. A Companion. She might know where the ship was heading."

"A Companion? Inara Serra?"

Brady was surprised at the familiar use of the woman's name; it was as if the man knew her. "Yes. We dropped her off on Londinium."

The man didn't reply; he looked away from the screen with a thoughtful frown. Brady felt a tightening in his throat, he had to push his words past it. "Sir, we've been back at Niflheim for over a week, but it's only to clear up some environmental mixup. It's certainly nothing that _requires_ our presence. I'd be happy to track down the Firefly and bring Reynolds in."

The man shook his head. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Then… there are a few officers here who worked undercover on the case. They are familiar with the ship and crew. I could send them out."

The man pondered it quietly for a moment, then he looked up decisively. "That would be helpful. But I don't want Reynolds harmed. And I don't want him alarmed either – he could go to ground and we'll never find him. This is time sensitive. If your people do locate him, they need to stay back and contact me as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Was Londinium the Companion's final destination?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I can track her down–"

"No. I'll find her myself. Carry on with your mission, Lieutenant."

"Very well. Let me know if I can be of service, Prefect."

The man corrected him with a few simple words: "I've resigned my elected office; 'Mr. Marone' will do."

o-o-o

Translations  
tuī ná: form of Chinese manipulative therapy  
biān: acupuncture  
năo huŏ: annoying


	11. Chapter 11 of 14

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Battleship _Argent_, Niflheim orbit

The end of the exercise program caught Ginger by surprise. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that the timer had run down without her seeing it. She slowed to a walk as the machine went into the cool-down cycle, but only made it another half minute before she stepped off. Moving slow left her free to think, and that was one thing had didn't want to do.

The free weights were in a different area. Ginger stopped at the water fountain near the doorway, taking a long drink and wiping sweat from her face with her little gym-issue towel. She didn't want to go into the main room of the ship's work-out level; fact was, she didn't want to be here at all. But she couldn't stay in her quarters all the time, and, when stuck on a military cruiser with no friends, there wasn't much to do.

She'd tried the gym out of desperation, and found that there was something about wearing out her body that brought peace to her mind. It'd become a habit, but a habit with one big drawback – the other folks on the ship.

It was hard to miss the short spell of quiet that fell when she entered the weightroom. She saw an empty bench and claimed it quickly, telling herself that the lively talk and laughter that picked up again had nothing to do with her, and loaded plates onto the bar. Small plates. Actually, the word "plate" didn't seem right – they were more like little pancakes, and looked pathetic next to the heavy load being pressed up easily by a thick-armed boy on the next bench over.

Gad, they let them into the service young these days – or had she really gotten to be that old?

She sat down on her bench, and as her eyes swept across the mirror she picked up a few sneering looks, smiles and darting glances full of meaning. She'd always thought of her skin as pretty thick; she hadn't ever been popular, and hadn't ever cared. She sure as hell hadn't joined the military to make friends. But this new notoriety of hers had an edge to it – like it was _aimed_ at her, on purpose.

She knew who it'd come from, and she knew exactly why.

_You're garbage,_ Will'd said to her, _and everyone knows it. You just try telling anyone about what happened on that ship and see what happens to you. _

She thought of the ugly words of her former partner as she lay back and lifted the bar. She'd been working with Will since the war, traveling the Border worlds to track down whatever targets they were handed, and they'd kept each other company – sex and all – over the years. But she hadn't really _seen_ him till just a few weeks ago.

She'd called him on it, told him what she thought of how he'd treated the people on that Firefly. He'd beat on a doctor and a captain who had nothing to do with the criminal they were out to snare. More than that – he'd tried to force himself on a Companion.

Ginger was no saint, but when it came to choosing a side on this, she had no doubts. Things like that shouldn't be done by any man, and by an officer of the government? That was all wrong. She might have stood against him, too, if she could, but Will had her beat. Everyone here liked him as much as she used to, and no one would ever take her word over his. And now he was dragging her name down even more, just be sure she'd stay quiet.

_Now, you listen up, Ginger Larkin,_ Will'd said to her. _You think you're high-and-mighty, but I know better. I know where you came from. You're slime that crawled out of a swamp, and the only reason you haven't been sent back is because you happen to be decent with a gun. But don't think for a second that anything you have to say will stand up against me._

She tried not to think of the lies he was spreading about her, but the guesses went on in the back of her mind. And the worst of it was, he was taking away the only place in the gorramn 'verse that she ever wanted to call home.

o-o-o

Twenty-four years ago

_Ginger's taking a restock run into town when she sees the poster in the window of the general store. She figures that it's supposed to catch attention with the jumble of color pictures of far-off worlds, of big ships powering their way through the Black and sharp uniforms on good-looking muscular young folk. But what grabs Ginger's eye is a small thing in the lower corner: a soldier standing with his legs spread for balance, his face intensely focused down the telescoping sights of a fully automatic laser guided sniper rifle with inertial steadiers. _

_Ginger may not know much, but she knows weapons, and she knows that the gun on the poster would give her control over millimeters, letting her hit exactly in the center of her target's pupil if she wants. _

_Her mouth goes dry at the thought._

_Since the first time she held a gun in her hands, she's had no doubt that it's her way. That was nearly a decade ago, the day her Da took up work and the hunting had to be passed on. It might have made the neighbors happier if one of the boys had done it; it's not right for a _girl_ to wade through the swamps covered in mud, a rifle in her hand and sharp blade on her belt for cleaning carcasses. But she's the oldest, and even then she'd had a will of steel. No one'd been able to stop her from claiming the chore as her own, though it's been a never-ending battle to keep it._

_Now, in her eighteenth year, Ginger stares at the military poster and feels a hope so strong that it nearly stops her breathing. Here's the way to live her life in peace, the same soothing quiet that she'd found the first time she stepped out of her family's noisy, crowded home into the gentle patter of the rain, leaving her lazy mother to deal with the howls of the little ones. On that long ago day, she'd wandered through the dripping greenery, taking all the time she wanted to pick her prey. She'd brought home a howler monkey that night. Those things taste awful, but they move fast, high up in the trees, and are hard to hit. It'd been something to get one on her first time out._

_For nearly ten years Ginger's kept her increasingly large family well fed. Now she's fully grown, and pretty enough, in her own way, to catch a husband of some means. So Ma says, anyway. But marriage has no draw for Ginger – no husband on this world would ever let his wife hunt. So she's ignored her Ma's pleas, refusing to brush the mud out of her hair and put on a dress. She's not going to give up her gunsport, no matter how much folks frown at her. _

_This poster is offering her a way that she won't have to. _

_She stares at it long enough to work out its full meaning – recruiters will be here in a week. She won't need to bring much with her, maybe just a change of clothes. She won't even bring her Pa's rifle, though it's been her best friend all these long years. She'll get a better one when those Feds see how she can shoot, and then she'll be able to live life her own way._

o-o-o

Halfway through her third set, Ginger's arms were shaking and she wasn't sure if she'd get the bar up to the supports. They'd laugh; all those buff young men and women sitting safe in their circles of friends would laugh at the tubby old lady who couldn't lift the two small pancakes. The thought of it made her so mad that her arms found some reserve of strength and the bar flew upward, then settled into its cradle with a rattling crash.

She sat up and shook out her arms, then wiped her face with the towel, but didn't move on. She needed a minute to rest.

She didn't have to be here; her tour had run out long ago, and she could resign any time she chose. Even had some benefits coming, enough to live off if she kept it simple. But Will'd been right about that too: she had nowhere to go. The only thing she could do was shoot. The only thing she liked to do was handle a gun. She pictured herself, an increasingly fat and grumpy old lady, parked on the front porch of some crappy shack on a bunghole border world, knitting socks until a rabbit got into the yard and she grabbed her rifle to make target practice of it.

That wasn't how she wanted to spend the time she had left. She needed to stay in the service, it was all she had – just not with Will. The best way she could improve her life was to transfer the hell out of here, and she was trying for it. She'd put her request in as soon as she got onboard, and was hoping it'd be coming through soon.

A voice interrupted her reverie: "Hey, are you done yet?"

Two woman were standing next to the bench; she vaguely recognized them. Newish to the force, had to be barely into their twenties. Young and fit and looking down at her like she had no business being in this place.

"No, I ain't done," she replied, though she could have been. She gave them a hard look. _Go ahead,_ she thought. _Push me._

"You know, it's not real polite to use a bar for just one person," the shorter of the two girls said.

Ginger bristled. She narrowed her eyes at them but otherwise didn't move a muscle. "I'll write that down in my little book of manners – I keep it right next to my lipstick and my hair dye."

The girls got her message and looked offended enough, but they didn't get a chance to jaw back.

"Hey ladies," a man said, "I think there's a bench coming open down the way." Ginger didn't need to turn to look at the speaker; she recognized his voice.

"Oh – thanks, Will," the taller girl replied.

"You want to join us?" the other asked, giving Will a flirty smile, even though the man had to be a score of years older than she was.

"Nah. You go ahead. But I'll see you at the card table tonight. It's time for me to win some of my money back from you sharks."

The reply came with a laugh. "You feel free to try!"

Ginger raised her head just in time to see the two girls glance at her, then back at Will. "See you tonight then," the tall one said. "We'll catch up on other things, too." They looked at Ginger one more time, and whispered to each other as they walked away.

Oddly, Will stayed where he was. "Heyya Ginger, how've you been?" he asked.

"Just fine," she replied flatly, then she laid down on the bench, hoping he'd go on his way quickly. But he stepped up to the bar like he meant to spot her.

"I have good news," he said. Ginger focused on the bar as she lowered it, avoiding the sight of his smiling face. "I'll just wait till you're done," he continued. "Wouldn't want to distract you. You might drop the bar on your head, and I can't have that."

She gritted her teeth, breathing hard through her nose. Her muscles were already burned out, and she only got through four reps before her arms failed; she was stuck with the bar only a few inches above her chest. Will put a few fingers beneath it to lighten the load a bit, and urged her on.

"You got it!" he said like he was her gorramn gym buddy or something. "I know you can do it. Come on, girl! Lift it on up!"

If she'd been able to speak, she'd have said a thing or two about being called _girl_. Instead, she pressed the bar up, inch by painful inch, then let him take it from her and rack it.

"What the hell do you want?" she asked as she sat up.

"Wow. Working out makes you snippy, huh?"

"You said you had good news?"

He shrugged off her hostility and sat next to her on the bench. His hip touched hers, and Ginger slid away from him.

"We just got fresh orders," he said. "Very important."

"I can read bulletins. No need to tell me the ship's business."

"This is something special – just me and you. We'll get our own transport. Nothing too fancy though – we'll be posing as tourists, once we meet with The Man In Charge and get it all set up."

"I ain't goin' nowhere with you."

Will's smile said _now isn't that cute_. "How do you figure that?" he asked.

"I put in for a transfer. Should be gettin' word anytime now."

"I killed it," he said casually.

For the first time, Ginger lifted her head to look at him straight on. "What?"

"You heard me. I like you, Ginger. Especially how you've been shaping up." He leaned away from her and his eyes traveled down to her rear. Ginger wanted to hit him. "Gym time may make you bitchy, but you're looking firmer nowadays. Still something there to hold onto, though." He grinned, and she wanted to hit him _hard_.

Then, like someone flipped a switch on him, he straightened his face and looked her in the eye.

"I like working with you," he said, his voice serious now. "You're a real pro. You're a great shot and you think fast. We've always done well together – it's almost like you know what I'm thinking. A partner like that is hard to replace."

She shook her head and looked away. That was so like Will, mixing a few compliments that just might be true with some that were downright disgusting. Belittling. She didn't know how to respond – besides hitting him, and that would only end with her in the brig.

Which… might not be the worst option.

"Will, I could get out of this job easy enough, if I shot you dead."

That didn't draw any kind of response like she'd have expected. He only laughed; he laughed long and loud enough to draw a few looks, then he patted her on the shoulder.

"Oh, I do enjoy you, Ginger. We haven't spent enough time together lately." He sobered a little

"But don't be so pessimistic; I think you might actually like this mission. The target is someone we know – you'd have the chance to get some payback."

"Payback?"

"That's right. It's the Firefly. They made you look downright foolish, didn't they?"

She snorted and gave him a pointed look. "I wasn't the only one."

"Hey – you were fast asleep when we got off of there, not a hair on your head hurt. _I_ was gravely injured. Took quite a beating." He put a hand over his crotch and lowered his voice. "Wasn't working right down here for near a week, after the blow my buddy took. I should get a medal of honor for that."

Ginger stared at him in disgust. It shamed her that she used to think him funny when he said stuff like that. "Why the Firefly?" she asked coldly.

"It turns out that the captain's a wanted man."

"The Browncoat? Wanted?"

Will nodded.

"So why'd the damned fools let him go?"

"You said it. Damned fools." He smiled at her like they were pals, like the _damned fools_ were some other group of people and him and Ginger were better than that. Like it was all just how it used to be.

But she wouldn't be falling for that again. She'd seen the true Will, and she wouldn't ever forget. She fixed him with her hardest look, and words that she knew she'd never say out loud ran through her head. _You listen here, Will. You ain't gonna fool with me again. And don't think I'm gonna watch you play games with folks that don't deserve it, like you did last time. I ain't gonna let it happen. _

Will laughed and chucked her on the shoulder like she was an uppity child. "No worries – they won't be making you look like a dāi zi again. We're not allowed to engage. We're just out to find the Browncoat and alert the proper authorities."

His bright smile was innocent and clean, and although Ginger thought it'd look much better with a few teeth missing, she just turned and grabbed her towel. The argument was beat out of her already. She had no power and no will to buck authority, even if authority was posing as a bastard like Will. Her battle would have to come some other way.

"When we leavin'?" she asked.

"Tomorrow, bright and early. Get lots of sleep; I need you awake for this one. We need to move fast to make a meeting on Sihnon with some guy who's heading this up. One Trevor Marone..."

o-o-o

Southbourne City, Londinium

Wash panted as he pressed his back against a dirty stone wall, hoping the shadows of the alley were deep enough to cover himself, Jayne, and the box Jayne carried.

"Did they follow us?" Wash asked in a whisper.

"Shuddup!" Jayne replied.

They stood like that, silently, for an endless half a minute. There was a clattering of footsteps on the main street that ran parallel to their hiding place, but no one went by the mouth of the alley. Their pursuers must not have seen them take the side road.

They both jumped as a bit of tinkling music came out of Wash's pocket – he was getting a wave.

"Shut that gorramn thing off!" Jayne hissed. "You're gonna get us found!"

Wash pulled the uTex out of his pocket and stuck the transmitter/receiver to the bone behind his ear. It was Zoë, finally calling back.

_Wash!_ she said. I need to know what kind of bad you're bringin' along.

"Not now, honey," Wash said as quietly as he could. The problem with communicating with this thing was that he had to speak out loud – it picked up vibrations through bone, and that meant he had to talk with his voice. Whispers weren't enough. So much for using mall toys for clandestine activities.

_Yes, now! I got a few complications goin' on that you're makin' a helluva lot worse. What'd you two get into? _

"Take this," Jayne said suddenly, and shoved the box he'd been carrying into Wash's hands. Wash juggled it and his uTex while the merc reached under his jacket – the gray coat of a Shepherd, borrowed from Book even though it must have violated some commandment or another to put it on a zuì rén like Jayne.

"We stepped on someone's toes," Wash told Zoë in his most hushed voice, "but I'm not exactly sure who…" He stopped to gape when Jayne pulled a small pistol out of the waistband of his pants.

"Jayne, you idiot!" Wash said. "You weren't supposed to bring a gun! That's probably why the Companions busted us – they scanned you!"

_The Companions busted you?_ Zoë demanded in his ear.

"No way," Jayne said. He turned the gun in his hands, fingers caressing it as he checked the settings. "This here's Sheila. Ain't no scanner can pick her up." Wash looked closer, and he recognized the weapon – it was the one Jayne had taken off the dead hijacker on Niflheim.

_Wash, speak up! You got police after you?_ Zoë asked. She couldn't hear anything Jayne said, and Jayne couldn't hear anything she said; it made it challenging for Wash to keep track of things.

"Maybe," Wash replied to Zoë, though it hurt him to admit that he'd blown the job. He was supposed to be making her day easier, not more complicated. "Probably. I'm not sure. But we're definitely wanted by whoever handles the sale of contraband in whorehouses around here."

_Whorehouses? What the hell are you doin'…?_ Zoë stopped abruptly, then continued in a forcibly calm voice. _Never mind. So you got crimelords on you too? _

"I told you – we stepped on toes. It's the Core; it's hard not to!"

"Shut up and move!" Jayne snapped, and Wash realized that the distant footsteps were getting louder again. Jayne grabbed Wash's shoulder and pushed him further down the alley.

"Can't talk!" Wash told Zoë. "Running now!"

_Run your asses back to the ship,_ Zoë replied. Do it fast. We can't wait for you to go to ground and shake em, not if the police ID'd you at the House. How far away are you?

"Jayne," Wash asked as he ran, "how long 'till we get on board?"

"Two minutes," Jayne said, like he had it timed to a T.

"Two minutes," Wash repeated for Zoe.

o-o-o

Zoë swore to herself and turned down the gain on the uTex. She didn't want to close the connection with Wash, but the jarring sounds of his feet hitting the pavement as he ran, transmitted directly into her ear, didn't help her concentration.

She was in a bind – a very complicated bind. But she'd been in plenty of these in her time, and she had some idea of how to go about it. The key was to relax, she told herself. Stay cool and take one thing time at a time.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out as she tried to decide where to start. Less than two minutes until crime lords descend on the ship, and police could be hovering around them even now. They were low on fuel, out of money, and Mal had no idea who Simon, River, and Book were.

Deal with that last part later, and if the police really had ID'd them, it was too late anyhow. So, first priority – get the hell out of here.

"Captain," she said. "You need to warm _Serenity_ up and be ready to get us in the air, soon as Wash and Jayne hit the airlock."

Mal had been glaring at Simon like he meant to pound on him, but he looked away from the doctor to blink at Zoë in surprise. "You just give me an order?"

"No sir. I'm just thinkin' faster than you right now."

"Maybe that's cause I'm the only one noticing the obvious at the moment. Namely…" Mal tilted his head toward the group standing near the dining room table, which he saw as Kaylee and three strangers, "…who the hell are these people, and we are they havin' a gorramn birthday party on my ship?"

"Okay, that might be obvious," Zoë replied, (obvious to a captain with gaping holes inside his head, she added in her own mind), "but more important than that are the gunners who'll be comin' down on us in… about a minute and a half. Now – do you want _me_ at the helm when that happens, or yourself?"

She knew that Mal couldn't argue with that, and he didn't. But he didn't like it either.

"You stay with these people," he ordered harshly. "I won't have strangers wanderin' my ship." He turned and stalked toward the bridge, muttering as he went: "Any more than they already have."

While Zoë waited for him to get out of earshot, she moved on to the next problem to be dealt with: the lack of fuel.

"Wash, those folks better be after you 'cause you took all their coin," she said under her breath, then she fixed her eyes on the doctor. "Simon."

She didn't need to say anything more. He looked down at the data disk he was still clutching in his hand, then nodded and left.

o-o-o

Wash had a feeling that Jayne could have easily outdistanced him, but the merc played nice and hung back. He held his fancy gun at the ready and watched the street behind them until Wash got to the ship and through the airlock. Jayne had planned their route well; they'd emerged from a small side street right near the landing platform, and managed to get on board before their pursuers came around the corner.

"Zoë – we're on!" Wash yelled as he punched the controls to close the hatch. Jayne squeezed through just in time – he'd stayed back a bit to fire off a few shots, like he wanted to give his new gun a try. A round of return volleys hit the inside walls of the airlock, and Jayne swore and ducked under the cover of the closing cargo bay door.

Wash started up the stairs at a flat out run, and was beyond winded when he finally got to the top deck. He wasn't used to this much exercise, and the tight collar of his shirt and a very awkward takeoff didn't help any. The ship bumped and shifted, throwing him against the railings and nearly making him drop the box he carried.

"Has Mal forgotten how to fly, too?" Wash asked no one in particular as he glanced into the dining room. He took in the remains of an interrupted birthday party; River was sitting behind her birthday cake with a very festive hat on her head, but her expression didn't live up to the setting. She looked like someone had given her a dead puppy.

A raised voice from the bridge called Wash's attention away. "What the hell happened to my ship!" Mal yelled.

Wash handed the box to Jayne and stumbled up to the bridge.

"They're… upgrades," Zoë was telling the captain. "After Saffron messed it up the second time, Wash switched the feeds to the – oh hell, why am I tellin' you this?"

"I'm here!" Wash announced breathlessly as he stepped into the bridge. "It's all going to be okay now."

Usually an announcement like that brought only derisive laughs, but Zoë surprised him by muttering, "Thank the powers that be…"

"What have you done to my bridge?" Mal demanded. He had them well up into the atmo, but he was flying unsteadily, hands shifting over the console, looking for controls like they weren't where he thought they'd be. Wash didn't answer, just sat down in the co-pilot's seat. He didn't have to ask; Mal immediately switched over the helm control.

"Do we have anyone on our tail?" Wash asked.

"Two," Zoë replied. "Stingers."

"Stingers? Damn!" Wash muttered. Those were fast little ships. Marketed as sporty transports to the wealthy elite, Stingers had strong frames and excellent maneuverability. It was also quite easy to add weapons to the craft, which was why they were so often used by folk heavily involved in crime.

"That ain't all!" Zoë added, bending over the scanner screen. "We got local law enforcement, comin' in from the east. No flashers on, but they're patrollin' for something."

Wash bit down on his lip and tensed, barely stopping himself from going into some serious maneuvers. His instinct was to shake his pursuit, and shake it fast, but common sense spoke up in time. He was only a klick above a good-sized city on a Core world. As good as he was, there wasn't a move fancy enough to get them out of this, not if that security cruiser hooked onto _Serenity_ as a target for arrest. Flying like a madman would only draw attention.

The good thing was – he wasn't getting contacted. Not a blip. If the cops wanted to force _Serenity_ to land, they'd be burning holes in the comm system telling him exactly what to do. Could be, they hadn't ID'd _Serenity_ as the ship he and Jayne had used to bring their illegal elephant seal scrotum into the world.

But one thing he was certain of – the two Stingers were after _Serenity_. They weren't attacking, probably on account of the nearby patrol ship, but they were following closely. If Wash flew away quiet and docile, he might slip the police, but the crimelords would follow. He wouldn't be able to shake them in the Black.

The police patrol was coming closer – sniffing after the Stingers, most likely. Not a good thing, because if they figured that the criminal types were tailing _Serenity_, they'd all get nabbed for later sorting.

Wash blew out a fast breath – this was what folks meant when they talked about rocks and hard places. Frying pans and fires. Pyroraptors and velociraptors. But he wasn't about to give up; he had to make up for nearly blowing the job. Well, he'd pretty much completely blown it. Only Jayne's unsavory connections had given them the chance to bring back what coin they had.

As hopeless as it seemed, there was a way out of this, and Wash knew what it was. It'd take some cool nerves to carry it off. Luckily, when he was in this chair, he had all the icy nerves he needed. He turned the ship back toward the city and settled into the regular flow of air traffic, the slow crawl of workers commuting at the end of the day.

"This is not how we run away," Mal said testily.

Wash ignored him, but grinned as his confidence swelled. This was so going to work, and by that he meant brilliantly. He pulled his uTex out of pocket and keyed in the code for emergency.

"Keep it down, okay?" he told Mal and Zoë. They might have argued, but Wash didn't hear. An operator answered right away and his attention was focused on making the call.

"Uh – hi!" he said to man on the line. "I just thought you might want to know… I was out walking… ahh, walking my dog… by that Companion House. You know the one? Near downtown? Yeah… that one. And then these two guys came running out."

Wash glanced up – Zoë and Mal were looking at him like he'd lost his mind. He winked at Mal, then blew a silent kiss to Zoë.

"I got this real strong feeling that they were bad people. Criminals, you know. They had that look. Shifty eyed and dirty. Especially the big one. They were carrying a box, too. Um… a gray, metallic box. I think they may have been… stealing something from those fine ladies. They jumped into two transports – Stingers. I sure hope you catch them. It's an awful thing, seeing crime in the middle of the day like that. I mean – we're supposed to be civilized, right?"

The operator told him to hold the line. Ten seconds later, the security cruiser, lights flashing, swung in behind the two Stingers. Mal and Zoë bent over the scanner, both of them engrossed in watching his plan work itself out. When the two little ships turned toward a landing grid, Wash disconnected the call and prepared himself to receive hearty congratulations on his fast thinking.

It didn't quite work out that way.

"Get us out of here," Zoë ordered, "and tell me you got the money."

"The money?" Mal demanded. "What money?"

"Jayne's got enough coin to get us half fueled," Wash told Zoë, though he knew he was ignoring Mal at his own peril. "I'll take care of that part. You just see after… you know…" He didn't have the nerve to nod toward Mal, but Zoë understood.

"Sir," she said, turning to the captain. "I owe you some explanations. Now's as good a time as any."

Mal gaped for a second, as if he hadn't expected that offer and whatever threats he'd been about to make were stuck in his throat.

"I'll say you do at that," he finally managed to sputter.

"We'll be in Shuttle Two," Zoë told Wash. "Get us fueled and clear – tell me if there's any problem. And tell Kaylee to swap out the pulse beacon and take us off the cortex, soon as we clear monitored space. We can't have any of these folks followin' us."

o-o-o

Jayne sat back, his big, dirty boots propped up on the dining room table. Normally, Mal got upset over that kind of thing, but wasn't nobody gonna get on Jayne today. He'd done his share and more, and deserved some time to enjoy the spoils of his service.

He had a bottle of well-earned refreshment to pull on (and a pocket full of a bonus he'd bartered from the second of the three whorehouses he'd dealt with, but that would wait for later…) He was already feeling smoothed out from the drinks he'd had on the job. To hell with what Wash'd said – a man who doesn't buy a drink is suspicious. Tipping a glass with a costumer is an important part of the selling process, and Jayne had done some very fine selling today.

Course, a little dessert would do nothing but good. "Mind if I partake?" he asked, reaching toward the birthday cake. He aimed his question at River, but she didn't reply – too busy thinking on something. Kaylee only shrugged like she didn't care.

"Help yourself," Book replied.

"Don't mind if I do," Jayne said. He cut a big slice and set to it, eating it right out of his hand. "Good haul, huh?" he asked the Shepherd as he nodded toward a pile of coin in the middle of the table. He'd left it there proudly, so they all could see what he'd pulled off. All by himself too. Wash hadn't had a clue what to do after it went bad with the Companions. "Only sold sixty grams," Jayne said. "Think a' how much we'll have when I can get the rest of it out there."

"Perhaps we should check with the competition next time," Book said. "We've got enough people on our tail – we don't need every black market organization hunting us as well."

"Doesn't do any good," River said distantly. "Everything gets taken away. Lost." She sounded sad, and looked close to crying. Jayne was thankful as anything that she didn't – she got up and slipped out the hatch before it came to that.

"What's her problem?" he asked. "Ought'a be happy, with all this fuss goin' on for her." He held up the lump of cake that he was still working on, showing it as evidence before he finished the last chunk of it. "Gorramn," he added in a mumble. "I even spent my own coin on a present for her."

"It's the cap'n," Kaylee said absently. "She's upset over the cap'n."

Jayne swallowed back the last of the cake so he could answer that. "What – Mal being crazy? Ain't nothin' new about that."

"He's forgotten us," Book said. "He didn't recognize me or River or Simon."

Jayne licked off his fingers as he considered that. "Huh," he finally said, then he grinned. "That must a' been a good time. He beat on the doc any?"

Kaylee looked up at him, and Jayne felt his smirk freeze when he saw her face. She wasn't having any fun with this. "We're next, you know," she said softly. "Won't be long fore he's lookin' at us like he never saw us before. Askin' what we're doin' on his ship, like we don't belong here."

"That can't happen," Jayne said. "Not to us. Book and them – and no offense here, Shepherd – but they's just passengers. We're crew. Mal won't forget _us_."

Kaylee looked down at the floor, disagreeing without words. Book wasn't so shy. "Are you sure of that?" he asked.

Jayne tried to stare the preacher down, wanting to show that he was sure as sure can be. But maybe he wasn't, because he looked away first.

"Aw, hell," he said as took a long draw from his flask.

o-o-o

River ran from the dining room, leaving Kaylee and Book to handle the oblivious self-satisfaction that was coming off Jayne in fat, heavy waves. She couldn't believe that she ever thought she liked the mercenary. The man might not be as stupid as some of the crew thought, but he had no sensitivity. Couldn't he see the full tragedy of what was happening to Mal? Didn't he know what it meant?

River slowed as she reached the bottom of the stairs, then ducked under the infirmary window and crouched next to the hatch, staying hidden. Simon was in there, just starting to sort through the scanner data. She wanted to find out if he knew, if he saw the thing she feared most. Simon was a trained observer; if anyone knew about it, it was her brother.

She squeezed her eyes shut and _listened_.

Simon's thoughts were a myriad of loose threads, jumbled now but slowly weaving themselves into a single strong fabric as he prepared to do his analysis. _Traumatic memories… the limbic system… have no database… text on neural anatomy as reference… no 3D holo-image viewer… how to clarify…?_

River tried to reach below the cleanliness of science, into the deeper parts of his mind. She imagined that she could slip her hands between the threads of his rationality and gently separate them, letting her glimpse the other ideas that swarmed beneath in dark, formless clouds. She felt herself dive down…

And she found what she feared would be there. For barely an instant, Simon's eyes settled on a red bag on the far counter, the one he'd brought on board with him almost a year ago. One of those blurry clouds in his minds was calculating the things he would need to take with him when he left the ship.

_What will I need to keep River stable…?_

"No!" she yelled as she pushed herself up. "No! You won't!"

She rushed into the infirmary, and Simon turned to her, startled. "I won't what?"

"Won't take me! I won't leave! Never!"

"River, what are you talking about?"

"I heard you – you think we have to leave! But I won't!"

Simon lifted his hands out to his sides. "I never –"

"Yes, you did! I heard you!"

Simon dropped his hands and sighed, then looked away from her. He was confused, his thoughts wildly scattered now. The neat tapestry had unraveled, the neat surface of logic broken up. But that meant that the things underneath were surfacing, coming up to where he could consciously consider them.

River wasn't patient enough to wait for him to figure it out on his own. "You were wondering what you'd need to take," she prompted, then adding three hard words: "When. We. Leave!"

"Yes," he admitted with a faint nod. "I guess I was. I hadn't really –"

His admission got her anger going again. "Won't happen!" she snapped. "You're not going to give up on Mal! You're the only hope he has to get better, and the only hope I have…." She stammered, wanting more words, needing to make him understand how horrible it all really was. This ship was her home. Maybe there'd had another home for River Tam once, but she wasn't that girl anymore. The one who came out of the Academy was all different, and there was no other place where she could belong like she did here. If she lost this…

She felt warm hands on her shoulders and realized that Simon was standing right in front of her, slouching a bit so he could look her in the eye.

"River, listen to me. I have no intention of giving up on Mal."

"But you were thinking – "

"My thoughts… you have to understand that sometimes thoughts take their own directions." She huffed at that, but Simon didn't let her argue. "Hey – can you calm down and let me explain?"

He held her gaze; the thoughts behind his blue eyes were clear and sure again. But now River's mind was a mess. She was terrified, she realized. More than anything, she was scared of what was going to happen now. If Mal didn't know her, than maybe her home wasn't her home. Maybe her family was going to fall apart.

She nodded to Simon.

"I know you don't recall a lot of our first days on this ship," he said, his voice calm and even, "but believe me – the captain didn't like me very much."

River didn't see the relevance. "He doesn't like you now. I mean… if he remembered you, he still wouldn't like you."

She didn't intend that in the mean way it sounded. Mal respected her brother, and valued his skills, but as far as liking? That might not ever happen.

River saw that she didn't have to explain; Simon understood. He smiled. "Maybe not. But my point is, now that he doesn't know us, he might not want us here. The first time he heard our situation, he didn't exactly jump at the chance to help us."

River started to argue that, but found she couldn't. She could only think of the cold, impersonal hostility she'd felt from Mal. No, he sure didn't like Simon. And he thought nothing of her. Not anymore.

Simon moved a hand to her chin, lifting her head so she had to meet his eyes again. "I don't plan on just walking off this ship," he said, "but I have to be prepared. Whatever happens – I need to be able to look after you, to take care of you. I don't know what's going to happen, with Mal like he is. Do you understand?"

River nodded. She could see the logic behind that, see it clearly enough that she couldn't fight him like she'd wanted to. She felt her eyes tear up. "But I don't want to leave," she said.

"Neither do I, mei-mei."

Simon started to hug her, but River pulled away. "Zoë wouldn't let you go anyway, not until you make him better."

He smiled. "You're right; she wouldn't. I hadn't thought it through. River, you're getting to be quite good at this _reading_ thing, but you should be a little more careful about jumping to conclusions. Thoughts are… complicated things, and don't always make sense. I hadn't even had a chance to sort this out myself. I wasn't expecting it to go this far."

River nodded; she hadn't been expected it either, though it should have been obvious. Maybe she wasn't really mad at Simon. Maybe it was herself she was upset with, for not being prepared for this. And maybe she'd attacked him because of what she was afraid of herself.

But she couldn't let herself do that. If Mal wasn't able to keep them all together, she'd have to help. She'd have to be a grown-up now, and not give in to her fears. Keep faith. Believe in Mal.

She lifted her head and stood up as tall as she could. "Simon," she said firmly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I misunderstood. But I'm not giving up. Ever. No matter what happens, I'm staying here. Home."

She turned and left the infirmary before Simon could answer.

o-o-o

"This is ridiculous!" Mal said. He turned away from the cortex screen to pace the shuttle. "I don't know why you're playin' at this, Zoë, but it's gettin' on my nerves!"

Zoë sighed. Maybe it was a waste of time to go through the full explanation, given that Mal wouldn't remember anything for more than a day. But she'd made a promise. To get him to follow her into the hospital, she'd swore to tell him everything. Not that there weren't times to break promises – Zoë wasn't stupid enough to bind herself completely to anything she said, but she couldn't go back on this. She'd done too much lying to Mal, and she couldn't do it again. Not today.

Gods, but it was hard to do. It wasn't like she expected him to believe her instantly, and she was going about it in slow, careful steps, giving him time to take up the idea. Still, it wore on her, the way he fought it. He didn't go so far as to dismiss it altogether and walk away – she suspected, as she had since the day this started, (and he'd once admitted to it) that somewhere inside himself he knew what was happening to him. But he wasn't going to accept it without a struggle; he was like a little boy fighting not to be sent to bed for the night, tired through he might be.

So she got a tight hold on her patience and her cool, keeping herself together as she walked him through it. She'd started by telling him, straight up, that the verse had advanced eleven months further then he knew. That, of course, had been dismissed as complete gōushī.

Next, she took him on a tour of the cortex, mostly the news. That had got Mal riled, because it was harder to deny. Sure, cortex links could be faked, the ship's calender set to show any day, but Mal had to be asking himself why Zoë would go to so much trouble.

And now it was time to play her trump card. Zoë turned off the cortex screen and swiveled the chair to face him.

"Sir," she said, not able to keep her weariness out of her voice, "unbutton your shirt."

He stopped his pacing and stared at her. "Zoë… uh..."

"I'm too wrung out to fight you over this, Captain. Just do it."

Mal looked at her through narrow eyes, then he gave her half a grin. "Ain't your husband gonna get a little jealous over this?" he quipped.

"It ain't me needin' to see what you got under there. It's you. Now, you know I wouldn't be asking such a thing if I didn't have a damned good reason."

Mal studied her for another moment. "If I do this – are you gonna leave me alone?"

"Absolutely."

He shook his head, but gave in. "Fine," he muttered. "I can't believe you're talkin' me into this." He pulled the medic's vest off and threw it aside, then his hands went to the buttons on the front of the medic suit and he began unfastening them, his anger making his fingers move fast. "You know, you got me wondering what kind of hallucinogens you found that you ain't sharin'. This whole game ain't funny, and I'm wondering–"

When he got the suit top halfway open, Zoë interrupted, getting to her point without delay. "Middle of your chest, sir. Round scar. Adelei Niska gave you that just bout six months ago."

She spoke softly, gently. Finding the remainders of violence on one's body couldn't be an easy thing, even for Mal, who'd seen plenty of hurts in his life.

"You got another one on your right shoulder," she added. "Knife wound from Niska's man, maybe ten months ago. You paid him back in full for that. Put him through the ship's engine, and good riddance."

Mal stood where he was, head down as he studied evidence of the past several months, written on his own body in undeniable clarity. He touched each of the scars as Zoë described them.

"Then there's the gunshot to the belly, just below your rib cage there. That one near did you in, sir. Wash gave over quite a bit of blood to pull you back."

"Who did it?" Mal asked, his voice almost too soft to be heard.

"Scavengers. Took advantage when we had engine trouble."

Mal didn't respond, just settled on picking at the big round scar in the center of his chest with his thumb.

"You don't recall any of those happenin', do you?" Zoë asked, and he shook his head. "So there's your proof. It's been several months since we salvaged the foodstuffs off that wreck."

"Busy months," he muttered faintly.

"Yes, that they were."

He finally looked up at her. "And those people out there in my dining room?"

"Passengers we picked up the day after the salvage. They're good folks, sir, and gotten to be crew, every one of em. The boy's a doctor. He's the one saved your life when that bullet found you. He's the one put your ear back on, too."

"My _what_?" Mal demanded, but he raised a hand to his left ear immediately, as if he had a scrap of intuition telling him which side it was.

"Niska really don't like you, sir."

"Adelei Niska? How'd I go and get caught up with him?"

"We took a job we shouldn't have. Long story."

Mal shook his head, then took a few steps to the far bulkhead. Even in the shuttle's dim light, Zoe could see that his face had gone pale.

"That fancy Core-bred kid sewed my ear on?"

Zoë nodded.

"Who's the old man?"

"A preacher. I know, sir," she said to the sharp look Mal gave her, "I ain't sure why he's riding with us, and less sure why you let him, but you do. Probably because you see as clear as the rest of us that he's a good man. The girl is the doc's sister. She's an odd one with a long story behind her, but let's not worry about that just now. We got plenty to keep us occupied."

Mal wasn't coming apart, but he wasn't looking too good either. He pressed a hand against the bulkhead to help himself balance as he sank down to the deck, still with a hand inside his shirt, pressing the scar of the bullet wound like he couldn't quite believe it was really there.

"How is this happening?" he asked.

"We got reason to think you there's something hurt in your head, because of a few events that went down a while back. But it was just a few weeks ago that you started forgettin' things. Seems to be goin' along faster all the time, and happens when you sleep."

"If what you're sayin' is true," he said, "I've had these scars all along. How come I didn't notice?"

"I imagine you just don't look. The doc had something to say about that, about how a mind can see, or not see, as much as it chooses. And… you should know sir, that next time you doze off, you won't remember this talk we're havin'. You'll wake up thinkin' it's some time before that salvage job."

Mal stared down at his belly, like feeling the thickened skin of the scar wasn't enough to make him sure it was real. The expression on his face told her that he'd had enough reality to last him a while. So she sat quietly and waited for the facts to settle in his mind. After a time, the ship bumped slightly. They'd reached the fuel stop, then.

"I feel like I'm dreamin'," Mal finally said.

"You've talked yourself into believing that before. You'll have to just take my word that you're awake."

He stared across the shuttle at her. This really wasn't working good for him – he looked to be struggling just to keep his breath moving in and out.

"You told me all this before?" he asked.

"Yes. Not often, because it's hard on you, and you forget anyhow. Most days we lie as much as we need to to keep you at peace."

He dropped his head and gave a shallow laugh, a sound of disbelief more than humor. "Peace. That's a good one." He took a few deep breaths, gaining some control over himself. "This is why we were in that hospital, huh?"

"It is. We snuck in to do some high tech scan of your head. Simon's lookin' at it now. He's a damned fine doctor, Mal. He'll see what's wrong, and he'll fix it."

Mal had nothing to say about that, not right away. He stared emptily, and Zoë kept herself still while she waited to see where he'd go with it. She also wondered about the fueling; Wash had planned ahead, choosing a remote orbital platform where there wouldn't be a wait, so it should be quick.

Sure enough, the ship soon rocked again as she disengaged from the platform.

"So… we talk to the doctor," Mal said firmly. "We find out what I need, and do it. No problem."

He started to get up, but Zoë stopped him. "Why don't we give him some time," she said. "He's just got started looking at the scan." Privately, she thought Mal needed a little more time to gather himself, but she didn't want to tell him as much.

He nodded and sat back down. He kept to himself for a good five minutes before he spoke up again.

"Zoë," he said softly. "What if there's nothing he can do?"

She had no answer for that.

o-o-o

Translations  
dāi zi: fool  
zuì rén: sinner  
gōu shī: crap


	12. Chapter 12 of 14

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Just east of St. Thomas, West Indies, 1684 A. D.

_River drags in a ragged breath, her bosom heaving as the tight stays of her emerald green silk gown bind her ribcage. The dress is meant for dinner parties in fine drawing rooms, not adventures on the high seas. Her raven hair, once neatly arranged in a coil on the crown on her head, has long ago been messed by the wild salt-tinged winds. Dark tendrils fall against her shoulders, sticking to the sheen that the hot, moist air leaves on her white skin._

"_Get below decks!" she hears, the words shouted by her brother. He doesn't wait to see if she obeys; he turns and makes his way toward the aft deck, his land legs clumsy as the ocean's swells toss the vessel. _

_River has no intention of hiding below. Simon may have his talents as a merchant, but he knows nothing about living by the sword, and that's the only thing that matters out here. He's done his best to guard her since they were driven from their father's estate in the Old World, but he can only do so much. She has to take care of herself._

_She bunches her skirts in her left hand and follows him. The crew hardly notice her presence; they're frantically busy with the ship's riggings, though their efforts will do no good. The vessel with the black sails is abreast of them now, and there will be no escape. _

_River climbs up the ladder to the large raised deck at the aft end of the ship, unnoticed by Simon as he barks futile orders at the man controlling the helm. Her hair slips completely free of its pins when she turns into the wind to study the wild men on the pirate ship, and her brown eyes widen with fear. Discretely, she lifts the voluminous skirt of her gown and reaches for the dagger she keeps strapped to her thigh. She has learned that life in the colonies of the New World isn't safe, and she means to defend her honor at all costs. The jewel of her maidenhood is meant to be taken by one man – the only man she will ever love, the man she loved against all rules. The man she lost. _

_Shouts ring out below, calling her attention. The first of the pirates have swung across the gap between the ships and are being met by fierce resistance. The militiamen Simon engaged to guard the valuable cargo in this vessel fight valiantly, but they are too few. More of the lawless heathens swing across, countless numbers of them overwhelming the fine English officers. _

_The melee is coming closer; River pushes the wild curls of her hair from her face, then clenches her dagger tightly, preparing for a last desperate battle, but before the brigands can climb up to the bridge deck, she hears a familiar laugh from behind her._

"_Now here's the treasure I came to claim," a husky voice says._

_River's heart feels about to burst in her throat as she turns – she never thought she'd hear that voice again, or see those blue, blue eyes. But it's him, her true and only love, standing balanced on the rail of the ship. She gasps when she takes in his clothing – he's dressed as an outlaw, tight black pants and a loose white blouse clinging to his muscular frame. _

_He releases the rope he just used to swing across from the invading ship and jumps down to the deck. As River watches, he thrusts his long sword back into the sheath on his belt, then holds up a hand toward the fighting hordes. They instantly stop their attack, obeying his unspoken order. _

"_Malcolm!" she says breathlessly. "You're a… pirate? I thought you were only my father's lowly servant! I thought… I thought you were dead!"_

_He strides toward her. "The Brown Pirate Reynolds – dead?" he says with a dark laugh. "You should know better than that."_

"_Reynolds?" she manages to say through the shock that has taken her. "You're… the Brown Pirate Reynolds?"_

_Her dagger falls from her grasp uselessly when his large hands wrap around her slim waist and pull her close to him. _

"_You should know that you can't get away from me," he says, his beloved face only inches from hers. "Nothin' can stop the love you n' me share. Nothin' can ever keep me away from you." He tangles a hand in her wanton curls, then lowers his mouth toward hers – _

"I just don't know."

The words made River start and look up.

"I don't know what to do bout it," Kaylee added with a shake of her head.

River scrambled to recall the situation. They in her room, both sitting on the bed and leaning back against the wall. River had just returned from talking to Simon in the infirmary when the mechanic had knocked on her door. Kaylee'd said that she was worried about River because of way her birthday party had ended, but River had seen that, really, Kaylee was the one needing a friend.

Though River'd wanted to be alone to think about Mal, she'd stuck with her new plan to be a grown-up. She'd given up her free time so she could be a good friend, but then she'd gone and slipped into her thoughts anyway. It was hard not to. Her own stories were so much better than real life. And this one… she'd have to come back to this one later, and make a proper ending for it.

Now, what _was_ Kaylee talking about? Oh, of course – Mal.

"You're not the doctor," River said. "You keep the ship healthy. Simon will make Mal healthy."

"But there's gotta be some way I can help," Kaylee said. "Maybe I should'a gone ahead and told Inara."

River had been slouching, but she straightened as her attention was completely caught by that. "Inara?"

"Yeah. I wrote her, but I didn't say nothin'. Not a thing. Just told her we were doin' business like we always do. It wasn't easy to pretend it was all right, but I figured it was better that way. Maybe I should'a told her…"

"No," River said firmly. "No, you were right."

Kaylee had been staring straight ahead at the wall, but now she turned and looked right at River. "You think so?"

"She left," River said. "Inara was mean, and only thought about herself. Doesn't deserve him anymore."

Kaylee looked away and blinked for a few seconds before she turned back to River. "But the captain loves her," she said.

"No, he doesn't," River said. "He doesn't even know who she is."

"But that's… that's cause he's sick. She might'a left, and… she might'a been wrong to do it how she did, but she must'a had reasons."

River clenched her teeth and turned her face away, not wanting to meet Kaylee's eye. She didn't want to explain. She might say too much.

"River, you got to think about it. Inara's not a mean person. She'd never hurt a single person–"

"She did," River interrupted. "She hurt him. This is all her fault!"

"No, it ain't!" Kaylee said, then she reached out and touched River's arm. "River. River, honey, look at me." River raised her eyes, even though she knew that nothing was going to change her mind. "Folks get their hearts broke all the time," Kaylee said, "but they don't go and lose their minds, too. There's something else happening with him. You know that."

River lifted one shoulder in a reluctant shrug. "Maybe," she said. _But that doesn't make it any different. She was mean to him. I would never be mean like that._ She didn't say any of those things out loud, though. She knew what would happen if Kaylee found out how she loved Mal. Kaylee would tell her that Mal was too old, that he'd never feel that way about her, that he'd never love a half-crazy and completely inexperienced eighteen year old.

_But I'm more than that,_ River insisted to herself. _I know it, and he will too, someday._

"You're friendly with Simon now," she said, deliberately changing the subject.

Kaylee took the bait without a bit of struggle. She sat back against the wall, and a slow smile spread across her face. "I guess – I guess we're gettin' along all right."

"Gonna watch more movies?"

"Well – not right now. He's got his hands full. He's gotta take care of the captain."

"Yes," River agreed with a nod. "The captain needs to be better. He needs to better as soon as possible."

"If anyone can do it," Kaylee said with a tired sigh, "Simon can."

o-o-o

Simon stripped away layers from the image on the cortex screen until only a brain-shaped wire frame remained. The sight brought a sinking feeling to his stomach; viewing 3D imaging results on a flat screen wasn't as clear as having a full hologram. It'd take him some time to sift through the data. He'd have to be patient and meticulous.

He began to bring up various sub-regions of the brain, adjusting the opaqueness and rotating the view as necessary. He started with the limbic system, in particular, the hippocampus, the mammillary body, and the amygdala. These were the parts of the brain which influence the formation of emotional memory, and seemed the logical places to start. Also, the medial prefrontal cortex, he reminded himself, which was well known to play a role in the handling of traumatic events.

Though he wasn't a neuroscientist, the workings of the limbic system weren't new to him. The butchers who'd done their work on River had focused on it – particularly her amygdala. Simon had spent a considerable amount of time studying this part of the brain in the past several months, ever since he'd taken a similar scan of River on Ariel.

Even so, he didn't expect anything to be obvious. A brain is a complicated system, and each person's is unique. Simon had no statistical database to help him sort out the results of the scan; he'd have to analyze the details of every structure and decide for himself what was normal and what was damaged. It wasn't going to be easy

Which was why he was surprised to find a problem after only a half hour's study.

He was still staring at the screen, considering the implications of what he saw, when Zoë stepped into the infirmary.

"You got anything, Doc?"

Simon turned to her; she'd changed from the medic outfit into her usual pants and vest.

"I believe… I have," he said. "How is Mal?"

Zoë stepped aside, and Simon looked past her to see the captain taking a seat in the common room. He had also changed clothes, but wasn't looking as crisp and neat as usual. In fact, he didn't appear to be well at all – he was pale-faced and seemed somewhat dazed. Simon started to get up to go check on him, but Zoë held up a hand to stop him.

"Captain," she said over her shoulder, "I'm just gonna have a few words with the doc here, all right?"

To Simon's bewilderment, Mal had no reply but a faint nod, and Zoë pulled the infirmary hatch closed behind her.

"Does… he still not remember me?" Simon asked.

"Don't know you from the devil himself."

"But he doesn't mind you talking to me privately…" Simon straightened and eyed Zoë suspiciously. "Did you sedate him?"

"No. Not with drugs anyhow. I told him the truth."

"The truth?" Simon asked, his voice rising in alarm. "But I warned you, that's dangerous! No wonder he looks – "

"Doc, I needed to not lie for once. Anyhow, it's too late. He knows. I didn't tell him any details of how it came about, nothing about Oeneus or Inara. But he knows that he's got some memories gone missin'."

"And he believes it?"

"Seems like." Zoë glanced toward the closed hatch. She'd chosen a spot where she could see Mal through the window, maybe to make sure that the captain didn't wander off. "So you got findings to share?" she asked, turning back to Simon.

"Uh... yes… I did see something, just now." He looked toward the screen. The image he'd been studying when Zoë'd interrupted him was still there, the abnormally shadowed area of the brain still prominently displayed.

As often happens when the workings of a mystery are revealed, what he saw made sense. He should have guessed it, really. He hadn't yet thought out the implications, but he had a strong feeling that this would explain Mal's symptoms, and could easily be a direct result of what the captain had been through.

"You'll have to bear with me," he told Zoë, "I'm still trying to work out the details."

"Take your time," she said shortly, not even trying to sound like she meant it.

Simon took a seat on a stool. Her impatience was rooted in worry over Mal, and it didn't offend him. Nor would it stop him from being methodical, no matter if it took a few minutes longer than she'd like.

"It's about emotional memory," he began. "You know how you remember things most clearly when they involve strong feelings? Like childbirth, or horrible accidents, or…" Simon paused when Zoë tilted her head to the side. Of course she knew – an experienced soldier must understand this far better than someone who'd read about PTSD while sitting in the warm safety of a classroom in the Core.

"Whether positive or negative," he continued, trying to focus on the medical details and not get side-tracked, "if an event causes strong emotions, the raised adrenaline level activates the amygdala. This triggers the release of norepinephrine, a neurotransmitter which effects the hippocampus and changes the way that the experience is stored in long-term memory."

Zoë folded her arms and tapped a finger impatiently against her elbow – perhaps to express her opinion of all those big words. Simon turned away from her to avoid the distraction.

"The brain of a person in a traumatic situation is inundated by norepinephrine. The amygdala is overstimulated, and the experience they're having becomes stuck in their memory. It replays itself, whether in the conscious mind or subconsciously, as dreams. Even small details of the experience become indelibly tied to the sensations and physical reactions of fear – the fight-or-flight response. Any reminder of the event can trigger a traumatic flashback, or put the person in a paralyzing state of dissociation."

He glanced at Zoë, sure that he'd lost her, but she shrugged. "That's got nothin' to do with Mal. He ain't runnin' around shooting at things, and he ain't a vegetable."

"He was having violent reactions when we first got him off the military base on Oeneus, and what he's doing now is certainly a type of dissociation… But give me a little more time. I'm just reviewing what I know of PTSD. Thinking out loud."

"Think away," Zoë said with a impatient sigh.

Simon turned away again, and returned to speaking to himself. "What Mal went through was a different kind of traumatic experience. It wasn't just a stressful event – it was a forced re-experiencing of existing traumas, and he was being held in a drug induced state that I still don't fully understand. What's more, they were using electrical impulses to somehow alter the functioning of his brain. He couldn't react naturally, couldn't defend himself. Like River – he had no choice but to feel everything. Fully."

Simon looked closely at the screen and shook his head. "And it's right there."

"Pardon?"

Simon glanced back at Zoë, then zoomed in on the screen's image. He pointed to the area of the prefrontal cortex where he'd found depressed levels of activity, though he knew Zoë wouldn't make anything of it.

"Normally," he said, "the prefrontal cortex dampens the amygdala's response and calms fear. That ability has been almost completely suppressed in Mal."

"And that makes him forget things?"

Simon dropped his hand and looked back at her. "Not… directly. It explains why he was so… moody after Oeneus. He was having strong responses to even minor stresses. Either he'd be disproportionately angry – as he was while we were on New Borjomi – or he'd go into a dissociative state…." Simon half-smiled to himself, the thrill of solving a problem getting the better of him. "That's why he was acting so odd on the bridge, when he was flying the ship during the hijacking."

"And that's why he blocked out the memory of whatever Will did to him?"

"Exactly. The strain must have been wearing him down, and during the hijacking it passed the limit of what he could endure. His mind blocked the experience out – it was the only way he could protect himself."

Zoë wasn't satisfied. "Since then he's been losin' things while he sleeps. Good things, bad things…Why?"

Simon blew out a deep breath and shook his head. "I suspect – and this is only speculation, I'll need more time – I suspect that the amnesia, since it happens while he sleeps, has to do with memory consolidation."

Zoë frowned at him.

"Okay, so… memories take time to form, and much of this work is done while we sleep. The things we've experienced in the course of the day are processed; important events are" —he moved his hands together in front of him to illustrate— "compressed and added to long-term memory, like archiving information in a computer. We access our long term memories while we sleep and bundle them up with the events of the day that correlate. Trivial details are thrown away to make room for the next day's experiences.

"But with all that's going on in Mal's head, I don't think much of this 'regular maintenance' is going on. He's throwing everything about the present away… and, apparently, events from his past as well."

Simon stopped to consider it further. It was a plausible scenario, although he needed several days of studying the scans before he could feel at all confident. Even then, he couldn't be sure. There must be other things happening, other changes on a physical level as Mal's brain sought to cover the damage. The lack of computing resources to make sense of the imager data, or a neural trauma specialist to consult with, made it nearly impossible for him to make a real assessment.

Simon looked up when Zoë cleared her throat loudly. She didn't say anything, but gave him an expectant look. He knew what she was mutely asking.

"As far as treatments," he said, "beta blockers interfere with the effects of adrenaline on the brain. They can stop the amygdala from consolidating the memories to a damaging level."

"That don't seem likely to fix much," Zoë said. "If I'm understanding half of what you said, it sounds like preventive measures ain't but a drop in the bucket. The problem's already dug in."

Simon sighed. For all her lack of education, Zoë had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter. "You have a point," he admitted.

"So?"

Simon resumed his pacing. He didn't know how to address the physical changes in Mal's brain. He couldn't begin to treat what he saw without several day's access to a hospital's equipment and staff.

But maybe he could treat it non-invasively. Besides the beta blockers, there had to be some medication he could use to recover or simulate the function of the damaged portion of the prefrontal cortex. Or perhaps he could suppress Mal's traumatic memories, or reduce the stress they caused, just until some permanent treatment was found.

The minutes ticked by while Simon approached the problem every way he could think of, but he was stumped. There was no way to be sure that the types of medications strong enough to be effective wouldn't further damage Mal's already weakened system, and Simon had no equipment that could monitor the effects of anything he tried. He could do great harm, and not know until it was too late.

Maybe he should go for smaller solutions. It would be a great improvement if could simply restore Mal's ability to process his day-to-day experiences, some gentle way to allow his mind to do its necessary tasks during the sleep cycle.

Suddenly, Simon stopped his pacing.

"Doc?" Zoë asked.

He looked up at her. "I think I know where to start. It won't solve everything – as a matter of fact, it won't _solve_ anything, but it may stop his deterioration."

To his surprise, Zoë didn't demand an explanation, just got right to taking action. "What do we need to do?" she asked.

Simon felt himself straighten a little – the look on Zoë's face left him no doubt that anything he said would be followed as if it was an order. He'd always known that his skills were valued on this ship, but he'd never felt this kind of absolute trust. And absolute responsibility.

"Highgate," he said. "We need to go to Highgate."

Zoë immediately went to the comm and called up to Wash; she had him set the ship's course and go at full burn. Then she turned back to Simon.

"Explain," she ordered. Apparently, the trust needed something to back it up.

o-o-o

Zoë heard Simon out, then nodded her acceptance. One of the lessons of her military upbringing was to know when to shut up and do what the experts said – and in this situation, the expert was Simon.

"Let's tell Mal," she said, and moved toward the hatch.

"Wait!" Simon called out. "That's not a good idea."

Now – in this particular matter, Zoë figured that she had one up on the doctor. No one knew Mal like she did, and if his sickness kept going the way it was, there might be problems besides brain chemistry to consider. Mal should have a say in how it was handled. Besides, keeping him in the dark certainly hadn't been working any miracles.

"We don't need to go into details, Simon. Just the plan as affects the ship's business. Mal knows what's goin' on, and he's got from now till he falls asleep to have some input."

"But I – "

"Simon. I ain't askin'." She didn't say it mean, just stated the fact. Simon was speaking up on Mal's behalf, and she respected that.

Simon took a deep breath, then nodded. Zoë turned and opened the hatch.

Mal sat up straight when they came out of the infirmary. He looked better than he had before – his face had some color – but he didn't seem real comfortable with the situation.

"Simon?" he asked.

"That's right," Simon replied.

Mal smiled awkwardly. "I'm feelin' a need to introduce myself, but I guess you know me already."

Simon was just as ill at ease as the captain. "Yes, we've met," he said.

Mal cleared his throat uncomfortably.. "I understand you, uh… been known to stitch me up from time to time."

"You do seem to attract bullets. And knives and fists and things like that."

"Guess you do know me," Mal said with a small grin. "I appreciate the service."

"Sir," Zoë said, putting a stop to the pleasantries. "We should get to business."

"Right," Mal replied. Zoë and Simon sat down, and Zoë looked to Simon to get them started.

"Well," Simon began, "I don't want to get bogged down with technical details…"

"I appreciate that," Mal muttered.

"… so I'll get right to the point. There's a device that I think can help you."

"A device?" Mal asked. "That don't sound like fun."

"It was actually created for recreational purposes."

Mal's mouth pulled into a half-grin, though he still looked more nervous than happy. "I take it back. Could do with a little recreation."

It took an effort for Zoë to keep her face straight and not frown at the captain. She'd have preferred it if he left the commentary aside and let the doc talk, but she figured that a little banter might loosen him up. After all, it was a mighty odd situation for him, putting his trust in a clean-cut Core-bred young man that he must not like the sight of.

"It's basically a field generator," Simon continued. "A very precise field generator. It hasn't been tested or used by any respectable medical organization, but" —Zoë's attention shifted to Simon as the doctor fidgeted in his seat— "it's not exactly unknown in medical schools."

He looked up at Zoë, and what he saw in her face must have made him feel like he needed to explain himself. "School wasn't easy," he told her. "Anything that reduced stress and increased productivity made its rounds."

"You tried it?" Zoë asked. She glanced at Mal – he'd already picked up enough about Simon that he was also looking amused by the idea of the doctor using any kind of illicit "device."

"Of course not!" Simon insisted. "But… never mind, the point is – this is effective and non-damaging. It does nothing to change the permanent state of the brain, but it definitely has an effect on neural activity."

"And you're gonna get to the point and tell us what 'this' is… ?" Mal prompted with an impatient sigh. Zoë almost smiled at how easily Mal slipped into his usual attitude toward Simon.

"It encourages… good dreams. Usually day dreams, but I see no reason why it shouldn't have a similar effect on a sleeping mind. There's a headpiece of transmitters that fit around the skull. They set up a standing field inside the brain, targeting"—Simon looked at the floor, his face reddening—"pleasure centers." He continued before Mal and Zoë could react to that properly. "This thing is not in common use because it has to be tailored to each user's skull and brain geometry, and the average black market doesn't have access to a holo-imager. This wasn't a problem in med school – students could sneak into the imaging suite."

"But we've already got all that info on Mal," Zoë filled in for him.

"Yes. It'll be tricky that I won't be able to set up the generator with a holo-imager on hand, but I'll find a way to do it just from the data. It'll take at least a day after we get the generator before I can work that out."

Simon looked at Mal, the penetrating stare of a doctor eying his patient. "It won't fix the damage, or bring your memories back, but it should let you function on a day to day basis."

"I'd wake up tomorrow rememberin' today?"

"That's right… I think."

Mal gave Simon's uncertainty a small frown, but let it go. "So… where we gonna get this thing?"

"I could try to build one myself, but I'm not sure if I'd succeed. It has to be very precise… We should buy one. Someone I went to med school with is running a clinic on Highgate. I'm fairly certain that she'll have what we need. She was known to be… a little wild… and I doubt she's changed. If she doesn't have one of these, I'm sure she'll know where we can get one. I should warn you though – it won't be cheap."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Zoë said. She looked Mal over; the captain seemed to be trying to hold on to his humor over the doc's discomfort, but it was fading. The reality of his situation must have been coming back to him; it was clearly time to move on to the decision making.

"Simon, could you lend us the infirmary for a spell?" Zoë asked.

"Of course."

"Captain?"

Mal nodded, then got up and followed her in. He paused at the hatch to look back at Simon. "Thank you, Doc," he said. "That's… uh… it's real helpful."

Simon accepted Mal's gratitude awkwardly, managing a shrug and a tilt of his head before he turned his back and left them.

o-o-o

Simon had every intention of going to his room, of finding some silence to process all the information that the day had brought. But he stopped when he saw a figure stepping out of River's room: Kaylee. She slid the door shut and turned around, then smiled when she saw him.

"Hey, Simon," she said. "I was just talkin' to River."

"How is she?" Simon asked. "I mean… I don't mean to pry, but she was so upset before. She was talking about… " He stopped himself, certain that the conversation he and River had had about leaving _Serenity_ wasn't something that Kaylee would want to hear. "Well, this has all been hard on her," he finished lamely.

Kaylee nodded. "She really has taken to the captain," she said. "It's hurtin' her to see him like he is."

"I'm glad she's talking to you," Simon said. "She needs someone besides a big brother. What little she tells me is… confusing."

Kaylee leaned back against one of the ladders, and her mouth bent into a little smirk. "It ain't like I can `xactly figure out what she means most the time. But I think she's tryin' hard to sort this out for herself, and not just get all… buried under it. She's more angry than anything, but I can't argue with that so much. It's… easy to wanna blame someone, you know?" Her smile faded as she lowered her eyes.

"How about you?" he asked. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right," she said, then she forced a little smile back. "Be doin' a lot better once you figure out that scan."

"Oh," Simon said. "Oh! Tiān, I almost forgot, thinking about River…. I found something. I think I can help him. It won't make him completely better, but I can at least make him stop forgetting."

Kaylee's face lit up. "You mean – he won't lose no more?"

"Well… it'll be a few days before I can get what I need. But after that…"

He stopped when the momentary hope left Kaylee's face. "That may be just long enough," she said. She turned her shoulder against the ladder, looking away from him. "He's gonna forget about me too. It must a' been awful for River, and for you. I know you ain't ever been buddies with the captain, but to have him act like you ain't nothin' to him…"

Simon reached out, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey – I just had a talk with him, and… he's still himself. Actually, he was much more friendly than he was the first time around. But he's the same Mal, bad sense of humor and everything."

Kaylee smiled, and Simon realized that, for once, he was saying the right thing to her. "My point is," he continued, "even if he forgets that he's met you, he'll recognize all that's good about you, the same way he did before. You don't have to be afraid."

Kaylee had been looking at him, but now she dropped her eyes. "Xìng fú xì, Simon. I hope you're right 'bout that. I do so hope you're right."

The sight of tears in her eyes made him tighten his hand on her shoulder. She seemed to take that as an offer; she stepped close to him, folding her arms against his chest and tilting her head under his chin. As much as she surprised him by doing that, he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her and set his cheek against her head. He pet her back once before raising his hand to her hair. It felt good to hold her. It felt friendly and comforting and safe.

She shifted against him; he felt her arms slide around him, turning it into a proper hug, and that made it all change. The curves of her body pressed against him, and it took him right back to another time he'd held a woman in his arms – that blurry, drunken night on Persephone. For just a second, he felt a nearly overwhelming rush of sexual attraction, a need to shut down his mind and find escape and release through his body.

But he couldn't allow himself to give in to that – a familiar sense of shame followed hard on the tails of the desire. He shouldn't be doing this at all; it wasn't his place…

"Please, be right about that," Kaylee whispered against him, and the sound of her voice pulled him away from his memories. This wasn't a stranger in his arms, and there was no exploitation, no impersonal exchange of need. This was Kaylee, and she'd been through hell in the past few weeks. If he could be of any comfort to her, he would. There was nothing degrading about that.

He looked down toward her face and brushed her hair back. "I'm the top three percent, remember?" he said. "Of course I'm right."

She tilted her face up to him, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to kiss her.

It was nothing like the kiss in the whorehouse on Persephone. There was no nastiness, no over-the-top eroticism. It was more like finally stretching his lungs after not taking a deep breath in years; it was sweet and soothing and as thirst-quenching as a rain shower in the hottest part of summer.

Kaylee's hands on his back didn't grip, didn't demand or order, just explored as softly as the tip of her tongue against his lower lip. He let his own hands wander, one still gently touching her hair, the other running lightly over her spine and ribs, finding just the right amount softness and curve.

Like the last women he'd kissed, Kaylee wasn't shy, but her forwardness spoke of ease and comfort without any sense of physical attack to set him on edge. Her body pressed tighter against his, fitting without effort, and with such an openness that he couldn't for the life of him understand why this had never happened before. She must have felt the same; her arms tightened around him, pulling him with her until her back hit the ladder. He felt her hand on his jaw, passing over his ear to grip his hair so she could hold him and put a little more into the kiss.

Her eagerness was freeing, it made him give in to the need to taste her skin. He pulled his mouth from hers, moving along the soft line of her jaw, the smooth hollows on her neck. He wanted to make her react to his touch. He wanted to find out what made her gasp, what would make her cry out…

"Simon," she said, her voice hardly a whisper.

"Yes," was his only reply, right against her ear.

"Can't, Simon." Before he could process her words the grip of her hands had changed and she was pulling away, slipping under his arm. Simon half turned after her, one hand reaching out to trail off her shoulder, but he didn't try to hold on to her.

She never even looked at him, just dropped words over her shoulder. "Can't be gettin' into this. Not now."

"Right," he said, holding himself steady against the ladder. "Right. Of course not."

She probably didn't even hear him. She was gone already, the sound of her boots against the deck fading as she disappeared into the cargo bay.

o-o-o

Zoë sealed the infirmary hatch, wanting to be sure they had privacy. As soon as she turned around, Mal handed out an unexpected compliment.

"He ain't a bad guy, huh?"

Zoë gave him a surprised look.

"What?" Mal asked.

"Took you a little longer than that to accept the doc the first time around."

"Maybe I wasn't needin' his skills then."

"No, actually, you weren't," Zoë said, thought it was a slight stretch of the truth. She thought it best not to mention that the first time around Kaylee'd been the one in need of doctoring, largely because of Simon. "So, you like his plan?"

"Ain't got much choice, do I?"

"Guess not. But let's talk over the details, settle on things while we can." She smiled, suddenly feeling awash in relief that she could, for once, talk to the captain straight. "I really don't like havin' to guess what it is you'd do all the time," she told him. "Ain't exactly easy tryin' to live in your head."

Mal grinned. "You don't know the half of it," he said, but then his look turned a bit apprehensive. "Have I…. have I been makin' it hard on you?"

Zoë couldn't help herself, she snorted a short laugh. "What do you think?"

Mal looked away, but he broke into a smile again. He gave his own short laugh before he turned serious again. "Zoë, you know I... you know that I –"

"I know it well."

He looked up at her briefly and nodded, then let that matter rest. Zoë was fine to leave it alone herself. She never had needed apologies or thanks from Mal, just like he'd never asked it of her.

"So, how long's it gonna take us to get to Highgate?" he asked.

"Two days at full burn."

He thought about that, then nodded. "Ain't a problem; I can manage it."

Zoë didn't understand his meaning. "How's that, sir?"

"There were plenty of times we went without sleep during the war. I can do three days, specially if the doc'll fix me up with somethin' to keep me bright-eyed."

Zoë shook her head. "Captain, that's a fine idea, but I ain't sure it'll happen."

He fixed her with a hard look. "You told me yourself – soon as I sleep, I lose it. I'm back to bein'… confused… not knowin' a thing. Gettin' babysat and lied to by my own crew, and acting like..." He clenched his teeth; for just a second the disgust he must be feeling over the whole situation showed through. "I can't have that, Zoë."

She nodded her understanding. Mal'd been out of control of his own life before, but it wasn't something he'd chosen at the time. She knew that he'd never give in to it again if he could do anything to help it.

"Two days of travel," he continued, still making his argument, "another for the doc to work out his tech stuff, then I'll be working up top again. I won't have to forget another gorramn thing."

"Sir," Zoë said in her most reasonable tone, "you ought to reconsider. First of all – I know that Simon ain't gonna give you anything to keep you awake."

Mal's expression turned angry. "It's my gorramn infirmary."

"Don't matter. He won't let you hurt yourself, and I'll be right with him on that. Anyhow," she continued before Mal could argue, "I don't think it matters. You ain't in any kind of shape to stay awake for long. In the past few days you've been tending to nod off – it's part of the bein' sick. I doubt you'll make it a single night, no matter how you try."

Mal turned away. He went to the counter, flicking a finger against a neatly arranged tray of supplies. His head turned slowly as he looked over the infirmary, like he was taking it all in for the first time. Zoë followed his gaze – it took some effort for her to recall what this room had been like a year ago. Mal'd always kept it stocked, but now it had an odd mix of sterility and warmth that came from Simon's daily presence. It looked like a completely different place then the one the captain must be recalling.

Mal finally turned back to her. "If my time's gonna run out, let's not waste it. What exactly are you tellin' me?"

Zoë had to think that through. It wasn't just a matter of knowing her own intent; she had to figure out what Mal would make of this situation if he was able to think it through proper. Since he didn't have the time or capacity to understand everything, she had to whittle it down for him.

"Sir," she said, "things have a way of not working out as smooth as we hope, but this thing of yours seems to be movin' faster all the time. There's a chance you could forget Jayne, Kaylee, and Wash before Simon helps you. You may even forget the ship. It ain't fun to think on, but… you might be wakin' up in a few days thinkin' we're still in the war. I ain't saying it like it's your fault, or like you can do anything to change it. It's just a fact of the situation, one that you need to consider."

She thought that Mal might be horrified at the idea, but she underestimated him in that. He leaned one arm against the bulkhead, tipping his head down as he worked out her meaning.

"You don't think it's safe for me to be here."

"No," she said firmly, but then she had to amend that. "I mean – not exactly. I just want you to think on it. And think fast. Simon says that puttin' you through this, telling you the truth, hurts you. I believe him – you've been half-sick over it."

Mal shifted, turning his face away from her self-consciously. He never had liked people knowing when he wasn't well.

"Captain, I'm just tellin' you that if you want any input as to what happens tomorrow and on from there, you'd best decide on it soon. I ain't puttin' you through this again. This'll be the last time I tell you the truth."

o-o-o

Book had spent the slow afternoon hours in the dining room, first cleaning up the birthday party and moving the remainders of the cake into the galley, then sitting aside and reading. He exchanged quiet hellos with those of the crew who came to fix themselves dinner, but there weren't many words to be said. They were all waiting to hear what had come out of the hospital visit.

Zoë's call came over the comm right around the crew's usual bedtime. It didn't appear that anyone had been getting into their PJ's though; they all arrived within a minute. Book watched them, taking in the changes in mood that the long day had wrought.

Mal and Zoë were first. Mal wasn't looking his best; he had a bruise darkening on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes. Still, he stayed to his feet at the head of the table, standing behind his usual chair. Zoë sat down next to him, folding her arms stiffly like she was holding a tight rein on herself. Book was puzzled by the arrangement – it seemed as if Mal was going to be leading this meeting.

Simon nodded at Zoë before he took the seat beside her. The doctor seemed a bit dazed himself, which made Book worry. Had the imager results given him such bad news? But then Book saw that there might be another reason for the doctor's mood; when Kaylee came in, she kept to the far side of the table. It didn't take any special skills to see that she wanted to avoid Simon, and her down-turned eyes made Book sigh sadly. She had seemed to be doing better lately.

Jayne came in looking annoyed at the call. He pulled his chair way back from the table like he didn't really want to be part of all this, and sat half sideways so he didn't have to look at anyone. Wash was the only person to offer a greeting as he came in, but he didn't get much response. River was the last to join them, slinking in the hatch and along one bulkhead, her head down like she hoped not to be noticed. Mal surprised Book by calling out to her.

"Hey, there, uh… River. Why don't you pull up a chair?"

River raised her head and froze for a second, staring at the captain. "Rather sit over here," she finally mumbled, then she took a few quick steps and dove into a padded chair in the sitting area. It had its back toward the main room, and she stayed hidden behind it, setting her chin on the top so all that could be seen was her face.

The captain looked to Zoë, who shrugged, and he left River be.

"Thanks for gatherin'," he said to those at the table. "And… I guess maybe I should say some sorrys about earlier." His eyes flicked over Simon and Book, then back to River. She ducked down lower, so that only her eyes and forehead cleared the chair's back. It seemed that she wanted to be here even less than Jayne did.

"Must be odd for you, gettin' forgot," Mal said. "Gettin' taken for interlopers. From what Zoë tells me, you've earned better than that. Wish I could promise not to do it again, but…" He paused to shrug, and that gave everyone a moment to figure out his meaning.

"So… you know?" Kaylee asked, finally looking up at him. "You know what's goin' on?"

"Zoë explained a bit," Mal said, "and I think I got some sort of handle on the situation. It appears I don't have much time – soon as I nod off, I'll, uh… Hell, you all know. Know it better than I do, I suspect. And I have to admit, I'll feelin' a little tired."

_More than a little, by the look of you_, Book thought.

"Anyhow, Zoë and I have talked it over, and we've made a few decisions. The doc there's got an idea of how he can make this problem I got slow down. All the technical stuff is a bit past me – the end of it is that he needs a piece of something high tech. We can't be stayin' in the Core, so we'll go by Highgate to get it. Actually, I should say _you_ will go by Highgate, cause I ain't staying on board quite that long."

Book could see a wave of protest around the table as the crew shifted in their seats, but nobody said anything aloud.

"Fact is," Mal continued, "I might be a danger to you all. I could start thinkin' I'm… I'm in other places, and I won't know you. So Zoë and I'll be gettin' off at one of Highgate's moons. Hunk of rock so rough it ain't got a name of it's own, but it's empty and quiet, and it won't hurt us none to breathe the air for a day or two. You can come pick us up when the doc finds what he needs.

"Meantime, from now till Zoë says different…" He looked down at the table and gritted his teeth, taking a few seconds before he forced out words that he clearly didn't like the taste of. "I ain't in charge. Zoë's the last word. On everything.

"This may be odd in times to come, cause I may not recall it." He looked up; this time he met Zoë's eye, and his voice held a note of apology. "I ain't one to let other folks run my life, and I'm bettin' I won't take this well when I don't know the reason for it. Wish there was something I could do about that."

"Captain?" Simon said, half raising his hand like he was afraid to speak up without permission.

"Yeah?"

"It might be helpful if you suggested a story that you'll believe. It'll be nearly two days before we reach Highgate, and we might have difficulty getting you off the ship if you've forgotten us all by then."

Mal looked down at the deck again as he considered that, then he finally pulled his chair away from the table and sat in it heavily.

"Gorramn," he said, shaking his head. "This is beyond belief."

"It's a good point, sir," Zoë said. "No one knows what you'll fall for better than you."

"I got to help you pick a lie?" he asked. "Can't you just dope me?"

"I suppose…" Simon said uncertainly. "Maybe something mild…"

"Captain?" Book asked. Mal looked up at him, and Book was taken aback to see an edge of hostility in the man's eyes. No matter the soft words Mal had started this meeting with, he didn't like having a preacher on his ship. At the moment, that was all he could see in Book.

"What?" Mal asked tightly.

Book swallowed back a wave of defensiveness. Mal didn't really mean it. "I could stay with you and Zoë. I could be of use."

Mal's voice was cold. "I don't need a man of God lookin' over me."

Book replied patiently, not taking up the challenge. "I don't offer for religious reasons. I can cook meals and watch the camp, as I expect Zoë may be…" He didn't finish. He wasn't sure how to say the Zoë'd be busy caring for Mal, like he was a child or a cripple.

It didn't matter, Mal was set against it. "No," he said shortly.

Book didn't argue any more.

"That's enough," Zoë said. "You all know the plan. Jayne – you'll need to be making more sales on Highgate. We won't be able to take jobs for a spell, so what you can get us will have to be enough. Simon says that he'll need a handful of coin to buy what Mal needs."

Jayne straightened up and push his shoulders wide, like he was getting himself ready to carry a heavy load. But he looked less than pleased at what Zoë said next.

"Wash," she continued, "Simon's in charge for this job, and you're a close second. The two of you have to work things out so far as what Mal needs and what can safely be done."

Simon and Wash glanced at each other and nodded.

"First priority is getting this thing of Simon's," Zoë went on, "but it won't do us any good if you all get nabbed while you're at it. We got folks on both sides of the law displeased with us right now, and changing out the pulse beacon might not be enough to hide us.

"So that's it, that's the plan," she finished up. "We're well on the way, but won't be there till noon, day after tomorrow. I suggest you all get some shut-eye while you can."

Book was one of the first to leave; he clearly wasn't a help to Mal, not at the moment. But he wasn't going to give up. He may have joined this crew with the intention of watching over River, but things had changed some in the past year.

o-o-o

"You need somethin'?" Zoë asked Kaylee. Everyone else had left the table, except Mal. Wash was in the galley, hovering over the tea kettle.

"I was just wonderin'," Kaylee said. "What's the captain doin' now?" Her eyes flicked to Mal and back, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to talk directly to him. But he answered her question himself.

"Thought I might sit up for a spell," he said. "Maybe throw some cards round."

"Could I sit with you?"

Kaylee looked toward Zoë again as she asked, and Zoë sighed. It was hard on the crew, not knowing what they could or couldn't do around him.

"I'd like it if you did," Mal replied, and the two of them moved over to the alcove.

Zoë tried sending Wash to bed, wanting someone to get a full night's sleep, but he had no interest. He joined Mal and Kaylee in their card playing.

Not twenty minutes later, Jayne came up from his bunk. "Can't sleep," he said shortly. Zoë pointed him toward the tea kettle; he got himself a mug and joined the game. Zoë stayed at the main table, sitting with her arms folded and looking on. She'd have plenty of time with the captain in the days to come; the rest of the crew could have their chance now.

Mal sucked down tea like the 'verse was running out of it, but it didn't do him any good. The circles under his eyes deepened, and after an hour the card game seemed nothing more than a task to keep his hands busy. He couldn't keep track of when it was his turn, and had to be reminded which game they were playing from time to time.

In one of the wee hours of the morning, Mal told them to leave him out of the deal. He leaned back in his chair and watched the play go on without him. Zoë'd swear an oath that his eyes never closed, but his stare got fixed for a time. Then he sat up suddenly, blinking hard.

He looked around in sleepy befuddlement, taking in Wash, then Kaylee, before his stare settled on Jayne. The merc was sitting next to Kaylee, and he gave her a little box on the shoulders after she played her winning card.

"Kaylee," Mal said, still focused on Jayne. "Did you bring a beau onto my ship?"

Zoë was on her feet in a second; she'd been half waiting for something like this. "Kaylee cleared it with me, Captain," she said, speaking loud enough to draw Mal's attention and stop Jayne from saying something stupid.

Mal nodded, not looking like he accepted that as much as he was too tired to question it. "I ought'a turn in," he said, his eyes drooping heavily.

Zoë came over to the alcove. "Game's over," she told the rest of them. "You all get to bed. I'll take care of him."

She waited till they were gone, then went to get the captain a blanket. He was nearly out already, and wouldn't be moving anywhere for a while.

And now there were only three people on the ship that he knew.

o-o-o

Translations  
Tiān: Lord  
xìng fú xì: blessed be


	13. Chapter 13 of 14

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

House Medrassa, Sihnon

The small, pillared balcony jutting out of the south wall of the House was seldom used, given its location high up in the deepest regions of the rambling building. But it fit Inara's needs perfectly. It was a pleasant place for drawing, quiet and cool even at midday. The overhanging roof blocked out the sun, which burned brightly at this time of year, and screens were positioned to calm the breezes that rose in the evening.

The view was one Inara had missed while she was away; in the valley to the west, off to her right, the towers of the distant city rose from a wide, shallow valley. The hills to the east stood in contrast to the urban center – though they were populated with luxurious homes, the tree growth was mature and dense enough to hide most of the buildings.

The day after the visit of the OPR agents, Inara spent the late afternoon capturing the changing light outside the balcony as the sun sank behind the city. She didn't use pastels often; she generally preferred the graceful, simple lines of calligraphy. But her time in the Black had made her miss the array of colors that one could only see planetside.

While her hands and eyes were busy with her hobby, her mind was elsewhere; she needed to consider the situation with the OPR agents. She had to be prepared for their inevitable return – whether or not they carried through on their threat to arrest her, they certainly wouldn't give up on their questions. She had to have a passable description of _Serenity_'s stop on Oeneus, and the truth wasn't anywhere close to acceptable. She'd already abused Mal enough, she wasn't going to be responsible for getting him arrested as well. She'd be damned before she told him that Mal had broken out of Alliance custody.

If they were after her client, the honorable Arthur Yeng, chairman of Oeneus's Committee for Agricultural Development, they could have at him. But she wasn't about to believe anything the agents told her; she'd have to always be on her guard.

River's presence on her shuttle was one thing that needed much care. It was Guild rules that all novices had to undergo a rigorous application process, and be accepted by a House Priestess. If the OPR officials checked with House records and found no mention of the fictional Novice Daphne, Inara would have to cover for River. She would claim to have been acting independently. It would likely get her in some trouble with the Guild, but that was better that than to see River – or Mal – taken into custody.

Then there were all the minor details of timing and location… when had her shuttle been parked at her client's estate? When had she placed waves to _Serenity_? Those messages were likely recorded in some communications database, proof of her location, and she couldn't make any errors. There were so many chances for snags, little inconsistencies that might lead them to the bigger lies she needed to tell.

Before she could consider the more mundane details of her time on Oeneus, the high clouds over the city lit with the last fiery rays of the sun. She last track of her scheming while she savored the short-lived sunset.

The city lights were beginning to show against the deepening violet of the sky when Lina came onto the patio. Unfortunately, she wasn't there to share Inara's enjoyment of the view.

"Inara," she announced, "you have a guest."

Inara froze with a pastel poised over the paper. She had never expected the agents to return so soon; she thought she'd have a few more days at least…

Her rising alarm receded as she fully processed Lina's words.

"Only one?" Inara asked.

"Yes – a man. He claims that he is not here for business, which is a shame." Lina's face lit in a teasing smile. "He is quite a pretty one."

Inara set down the crayon and exhaled deeply, relieved. The woman, Alvarez, had been the clear leader of the OPR team, and Inara doubted that Kain would return on his own.

But who was it then? An irrepressible hope rose in her chest – she'd never call Mal a "pretty one," but she supposed that someone who'd never had a conversation with him might. He did have decent enough eyes…

Inara swallowed thickly. "Did he tell you why he's here?" she asked.

"He claims to be an old friend, someone you met in your journeys. His name is Marone."

Inara certainly wasn't expecting to hear that name. "The Prefect?" she asked Lina. "Here?"

"He gave no title," Lina replied. "Just a name – Trevor Marone."

Inara set aside her drawing pad, moving slowly to give herself time to think. She wasn't frightened – she'd genuinely liked Marone, and would always be grateful to him for the help he'd provided. Without him, the Alliance interrogators on Oeneus would certainly have broken their way into Mal's subconscious, and he would have told them about River. The whole crew of _Serenity_ would likely have been arrested, Inara included.

However, the timing of his visit was worrisome. It couldn't be coincidental that Marone was here the day after the OPR; there had to be a connection.

Inara realized she'd been sitting still too long; she collected herself and rose from her chair. "Where is he waiting?" she asked.

"In the same parlor where you met the agents."

Inara nodded her thanks and left the balcony and the fading sunset behind, but Lina followed.

"Inara – are you sure you want to talk to him? I can make an excuse if you wish to avoid him."

Inara paused. She still wasn't used to being around other Companions, and being read so easily. She should to take more care to hide her feelings, even with someone she trusted as much as she did Lina.

She turned back and smiled. "Thank you, but he really is an old friend. I look forward to catching up with him."

Lina didn't ask for further explanation, but Inara was aware of her friend's curious gaze following her down the hall.

Inara couldn't help but smile when she reached the sitting room and saw Marone – indeed, he didn't look like a man visiting the House for any reason besides the usual. He had an air of self-satisfied, middle-aged wealth, the same affluent pleasantness that had misled her when she first met him. He seemed to have put some extra effort into his appearance, perhaps on account of Sihnon's high standards of fashion. The blonde highlights in his hair were emphasized by an artfully arranged shaggy hairstyle, a look perfectly coordinated with his slightly rumpled cream-colored linen suit. The one change since she'd last seen him involved his neatly-trimmed beard, which he had done away with.

But Inara had learned not to judge Marone by his appearance. The man had dedicated himself to an upstart planet located well outside the bounds of active Alliance interest, and he'd spent his life bringing civilization and modern comforts to Oeneus. He'd chosen to help the crew of _Serenity_ because he knew that the successful economy and lush environment of his world was drawing the eye of the Alliance. Clearly, he didn't approve of the government's involvement. For good reason – his daughter had died in the aftermath of the war, on a civilian transport shot down by Alliance warships.

That was the story he had told Inara at the time. She'd never had any proof of it, but she'd seen no lie in him, nothing in his words or actions to earn her distrust.

"Miss Serra!" he called out with obvious pleasure as soon as she entered the room. He rose to meet her, placing a gallant kiss on the back of her hand. He hadn't lost his charm.

"Prefect," she replied, "I'm so happy to see you again."

"Please," he said as they seated themselves. "I resigned my position on Oeneus. I'm plain Mr. Marone now – Trevor, if you'll do me the honor."

Inara smiled easily – his presence was as soothing as she remembered. "Trevor, then. Are you on vacation? Enjoying the city?"

"Actually, I'm traveling on business."

"Oh?"

"But that can wait. Tell me what you've been doing with yourself for the past few months."

Inara assumed he'd want to avoid speaking of Oeneus just as much as she did. As far as she knew, no was listening in, but openly discussing illegal activities seemed an invitation to disaster.

"I'll spare you the details of my misadventures in the Black –" she started, but he interrupted eagerly.

"I do wish you wouldn't. I think about the crew of _Serenity_ often; they are good people, as you told me yourself. I've wondered how things went for you all. You left Oeneus under difficult circumstances."

"We did spend some time far from the Core," Inara said hesitantly. "We weren't sure of the kind of attention we'd drawn on ourselves, and certainly wanted to keep our business to ourselves." That was as close a reference as she going to make to Mal's trouble with the Alliance, and she hoped that Trevor wouldn't speak of it plainly either.

He seemed to understand, although he didn't leave the matter alone. "So you still feel cautious toward those who gave your captain such a difficult time?"

"I prefer to leave that business where it belongs – in the past. I've returned to the Core, and have no plans for further travels."

He studied her openly, as if he doubted her, and her mind tumbled questions back and forth, one in particular: _What business does he have here, only a day after the OPR agents?_

"Well, my dear," he finally said. "I hope you haven't shut that door on the past quite yet. I'm actually here asking after the captain. You may recall that I always was eager to meet him, but circumstances prevented that."

"What business do you have with Captain Reynolds?" Inara asked sharply, and she felt her defenses rise.

"Did I say I was on business? That was an exaggeration. It's really just a matter of friendly curiosity."

"I'm afraid you'll get no satisfaction here," Inara said, smiling to soften the impact of her words. "I left the ship. I've been back at the House for several weeks, and I'm not in contact with the crew at all." Kaylee's short letter didn't really count, she reasoned to herself. "I don't plan on it. I'm done with that part of my life."

"Really?" Marone asked. He looked disappointed. "That is a shame. But… do you have any idea of where _Serenity_ was headed when you left?"

"You seem to have a pointed interest in finding them," Inara replied.

"Please be assured," he said, "I mean no harm whatsoever. I only wish to… ask the captain a few things about his experiences on Oeneus."

"Why is that?"

"As you recall, I was interested in the interrogation method being used on him. But… it would be better if I keep the details between myself and Captain Reynolds."

Inara felt herself tense up further. "You'll excuse me if I feel somewhat cautious," she said, her voice hard.

"Towards me?" he asked in surprise, then his mouth pulled into a rakish grin. "Whatever for?"

Inara didn't soften her manner at all. "You're not the only one to come asking after Mal this week."

"I'm not?" His playboy charm cracked, showing a hint of real concern.

"No. And I'd like to know why you and the Alliance's corporate police are sharing the same purpose."

He didn't reply verbally, but his reaction showed on his face with more than enough clarity for her to read – surprise, confusion, realization, frustration – one after another in quick succession.

"What's really happening here, Trevor?" she demanded.

Even before he spoke, she knew she wasn't going to get a straight answer. His eyes narrowed just slightly and his lips tightened; he was preparing to tell a lie.

"I'm afraid you're making too much of an odd coincidence," he said. "And I'm shocked that you doubt me. Do you really think I'd mean you harm, after the risk I took in helping you before?"

Inara didn't get a chance to reply; they both started when the door opened.

"Pardon me for interrupting," Lina said, "but may I borrow Miss Serra for just a moment?"

A second's displeasure crossed Marone's face, but he acquiesced with a nod and a sudden warm smile. "Of course. I'll just help myself to another cup of this excellent tea."

"Please do," Inara said, trying to sound pleasant for Lina's sake. "I won't be long, I'm sure."

Lina wordlessly led Inara to a small side room located just off the main entrance; it was used for security and communications, and normally only the staff occupied it. It was empty now. Inara fixed Lina with a questioning look.

Lina's reply was to sit down in front of one of the many cortex screens. "I saw your trepidation," she said as she tapped at a keyboard, "and knew you must suspect some ill from this visitor. So I sought to help. I will spare you the details; it is sufficient to say that I tracked this Mr. Marone back to where he came from – the Ziyuan landing port." Inara wasn't surprised that Lina could do this – any Companion had connections among city officials, and could receive such favors as tapping into the city's video monitoring grid.

"What did you find?" Inara asked, her voice tight. She knew that Lina wouldn't have called her away if this was good news.

Lina answered by playing a short vid; it showed a craft landing at a minor landing field that Inara recognized; Ziyuan was often used by the private charters of the wealthy. The ship on the vid was small in size but of high quality. Unexpectedly, it had military designations of its wings. It was the kind of craft that an important military official in need of speed would use.

Inara's breath caught when the hatch opened and Trevor Marone stepped out, but she hadn't seen the worst of it yet. Two uniformed soldiers were waiting to meet Marone, a man and a woman. As they shook hands with him, Inara recognized their faces. Her blood froze.

The last time she'd seen those two, they hadn't been wearing Alliance military uniforms. They'd been two of the four hijackers aboard _Serenity_, and the attractive black-haired man had been the worst of them all. Inara'd never found out what he'd done to Mal, but it had been bad enough that Mal had lost all memory of it.

And Trevor Marone was working with them.

"Merciful Buddha!" Inara said in a gasp, and she turned away from the screen. There wasn't room to pace, so she could only fold her arms around herself while she tried to think.

"I thought this would concern you," Lina said. "You were upset after meeting with the officials yesterday, and you have been so worried…"

"Thank the Heavens you read me so well!" Inara said breathlessly.

"Inara – what kind of trouble are you in?" Lina's question was all concern, not accusation.

"It's not me, it's the man I traveled with. I believe he's in danger. And don't look at me like that, Lina; this has nothing to do with what my feelings for him might have been. The danger includes everyone on that ship, and it's one of the few situations where they really were innocent."

Lina said nothing, but her eyes continued to sparkle knowingly. Inara ignored her and struggled to calm herself enough to decide what to do.

"He's Alliance," she muttered, incapable of keeping her thoughts to herself. "Marone is Alliance, or at least working with them. Will and Ginger... They must have been setting Beyla up, on Niflheim. The OPR said there were undercover agents – they tracked Ginger's calls…." She raised a hand to her forehead as the implications crashed down on her. "My gods – they're Alliance, and yet they treated the crew like that. Will tried to… "

She realized she was talking aloud to herself, as if she'd gone mad. She glanced at Lina, then continued her reasoning mutely.

Will and Ginger, undercover…. It explained how the Alliance had come upon _Serenity_ at precisely the right time to catch the hijackers red-handed. When the OPR agents told her that there were government moles working the case, Inara had assumed they'd be embedded in Beyla's cartel, not taking part in the crime itself.

How could they have the gall? And how had they gotten away with things they'd done?

Of course – Ray had been in charge of the crime. How clever of them, to set up an outsider to take the blame. Inara felt a second's pity toward the man whom life had treated so harshly, but then her eyes fell on the vid screen. Lina had paused it with Trevor walking beside Will and Ginger, smiling placidly.

Inara's stomach twisted with anger. Marone had lied to her – and she'd fallen for it. He'd been lying just now, and had very likely been lying on Oeneus. He might ever have been working with the Alliance at the time. Perhaps they had chosen to let Mal escape from the base, and now, for whatever reason, they wanted him back. Inara had learned how little respect the Alliance had for the mind of a single human; they'd torn an innocent teenager apart, they could have no moral dilemma over finishing what they'd started with Mal.

She quickly moved to an idle cortex screen. The code for _Serenity_ was still fresh in her mind, and she keyed it in.

And waited.

"Inara…?" Lina asked.

"I have to tell him," Inara said, her voice hard with determination. "I have to warn him."

Still she waited while the system searched planetary registries across the verse, looking for the Firefly. As vast as the system was, this process was usually quite fast.

"Come on… " Inara whispered, imagining Marone pacing in a room not twenty meters from here, wondering what was keeping her.

Finally, the screen lit up with a message: RECIPIENT NOT FOUND.

Inara swore and turned away. The ship must be lying low, staying hidden while on some illegal job. So she'd have to stall Marone, put him off until she could reach Mal…

But the threats of the OPR agents came back to her. What if they arrested her, took her away? Such things should be impossible, especially when a Registered Companion was involved, but she'd seen enough of the powers of the government to know better. If Marone was working with monsters like Will and Ginger, then he'd have no problem locking her away, possibly even using her to draw Mal in.

Her anger grew at her lack of options. Anger at Marone, anger at Will and Ginger, anger at Mal for getting into this mess, as unreasonable as that may be, and, most of all, anger at herself for not seeing this coming.

"I can't believe I read him so poorly!" she said. "That dăi, chòu … gŏushĭ duī… tù zăi zi!"

"Inara!" Lina said sharply. "Collect yourself. Tell me what is happening."

"This man," Inara said with a wave of her hand in the direction of the sitting room where Marone waited. "He's… evil! The things he's been involved in… I can't tell you the details – I won't draw you into this."

"That is fine," Lina said calmly. "But let me help you. What can be done?"

Inara pulled herself to her full height, as if strengthening her stance would harden her will. She knew what she needed to do, and it was the stupidest thing imaginable.

"I'm leaving," she said firmly. "I have to find Mal. He thinks he's safe; he could be in the Core right now." _On Londinium, doing some job for Badger..._

"But his ship cannot be contacted," Lina said, her calm voice carrying reason. "Perhaps he is in custody already? Or do you believe he knows of pursuit and is hiding?"

Inara shook her head. "If they had him already, they wouldn't be talking to me. And if he's hiding… it doesn't matter. I can't wait here, not knowing. I have to try."

To Inara's relief, Lina made no more arguments. "How can I help?" she asked.

Inara considered it for barely two seconds. Now that she'd decided, her path was clear in her eyes. "Stall Marone for as long as you can. I'll need a few minutes to grab my things… I'll take a House shuttle into the city and buy a transport there."

"Don't be foolish. You know I have a yacht – "

"No, I have to travel without drawing attention to myself. They might be watching me even now. I'll have to very careful."

"Inara, I ask for no details, nor will I attempt to dissuade you. But, for your own good, I must ask… you know what this will cost you?"

Inara certainly did, but her good standing with the Guild suddenly seemed meaningless. She wouldn't let Mal come to harm.

It occurred to her that one of the most recent hurts he'd suffered had been done by her. She shook her head – an expression of her own regret, not a reply to Lina's question.

"Rén cí de Fozu," Inara said to herself. "I shouldn't have left him."

Lina surprised her by smiling. "That is quite clear. I will let Mr. Marone sit for some time, then I will tell him you were called away on urgent business – something involving family and illness. That is generally an effective tale."

"Tell the same to the agents if they return – and for Buddha's sake, Lina, don't let them know that you're in any way involved in this. These people don't play by rules that you and I can fight."

Lina nodded solemnly. "I understand. Go now, and do not fret. I will be careful."

o-o-o

Outskirts of Breskens, Belgium, 1944 AD

_River is completely overwhelmed. Years of study at the finest boarding schools on America's East Coast have done nothing to prepare her for the horrors of war, and the short training course she'd been given on the trip across the ocean is of little help, either. The wounded keep coming, waves of them carried across the canal and into the old stone building being used as a hospital. Some of the men howl in agony, some are empty-faced, shock and blood loss taking over. And so many die... _

_The ground rumbles continually as the nearby battle wages. For a full day and a night, it's been ongoing. River's beyond exhausted, but she's willing herself to make it to dawn, as if the sun will bring some new hope with it. _

_But there's still no light in the sky when a deafening explosion rocks the building and the power generator fails. The room is cast into total blackness. It's too much for River; she stops where she is, unable to see enough to take a single step, then falls to her knees in despair. Another shell lands nearby, temporarily casting an orange glow through a window, and she crawls toward the nearest thing to her – a cot. She buries her face in the blanket and sobs, regretting that she'd been so stubborn as to do this. She should never had snuck away from her home. She shouldn't have used a false name when she'd signed up for the Army Nursing Corps. Now, she's going to die, and her family will never even know..._

"_What's all this?" a weak voice asks in the darkness. _

_She gasps when searching fingers touch her hair, then a large, warm hand settles over her head. The soldier in the cot she's cowering against is awake. _

"_I got a lady cryin' over me?" he asks. His voice is hoarse, but his tone is warm. There's just a hint of humor, too, and it makes her think that maybe the world isn't ending. It calms her, a little. _

_She shakes her head in answer to his question. He must feel the motion, because he chuckles softly. "Could at least lie," he says. "Ain't nothin' bad for a wounded man to think there's a woman cryin' over his hurts."_

_She lifts her head, looking toward the source of the words, but all she sees is black. She doesn't try to pull away from his touch; in truth, it's the best thing she's felt since she left home. His hand shifts so his palm is against her cheek, his fingers still in her mussed hair. _

"_So why you so sad?" he asks._

"_I don't know why I'm here," she replies, finally finding her voice. "I'm not doing anyone any good, and we're losing. The Germans will come kill us and my brother doesn't even know where I am, and… and…"_

_She stops trying to explain, knowing she'll just break down again. The man's thumb gently passes under her eye, wiping a few tears away._

"_This your first time?" he asks. "First battle?" She nods, making sure he can feel her wordless response. "Ain't a good way to start," he says, "but don't be layin' down to die just yet. We'll hold that canal, and they'll be runnin' out the far side of the town fore long. We got you ladies, bravin' the battle to help us heal. That means a lot. Means a whole lot, havin' you here."_

_Just then, the lights flicker back on, and River finds herself staring into eyes so blue they make her ache. Activity picks again in the makeshift hospital, but it's as if time has stopped around this one little cot as River and this man stare at each other._

_Then he smiles and strokes her hair back from her face. "Well," he says softly. "Ain't you a pretty thing."_

_River smiles back. She wants to stay here forever, basking in this stranger's gaze, but an unwelcome voice breaks the spell. _

_It's the head nurse. "Is this her?" the woman asks._

"_Yes it is," a man replies. His familiar voice makes River turn away from her soldier in surprise. "Simon?" she sputters. "How… ?"_

"_Thank God I found you!" her brother says, stepping around a cot to come toward her. "Come on, you're going home. You don't belong here."_

_River finds that she's holding the hand of the soldier, and she's suddenly determined to never let go. He's right – she can help these people. She can learn. "Yes, I do belong," she says firmly. "I can make a difference– "_

"_She's completely lacking in expertise and experience," the head nurse says to Simon, ignoring River's plea. "She hasn't helped anyone. It's really best that you take her away."_

_To River's distress, Simon grabs her free arm and pulls her to her feet. She loses her hold on the soldier with the blue eyes and the kind words. _

_Even worse, the nurse takes River's place, crouching next to the cot and taking the soldier's hand in her own. "Let those with more training take over," she says to River, looking up with beautiful brown eyes that don't look even a little tired. Her face has no shadow on it anywhere; her make-up is perfect, and her hair frames her face with tight black curls. "I'll take better care of him than you ever can," she adds with a stunning smile._

_River looks at the wounded man, expecting him to protest, but he's looking at Nurse Serra now. He's smiling at her like the moment that just passed with River means nothing to him._

"_No," River says, then louder, "No!"_

"_Go home, little girl," Nurse Serra says, and she turns her smile on the soldier._

_Simon pulls at her arm, trying to lead her away. River acts without thinking – she twists free of him, spinning away and planting her left foot in one smooth motion. Her momentum carries into her right leg, and she lands her foot in Nurse Serra's stomach, sending the woman flying away from the cot… _

River sat up with a gasp, opening her eyes wide.

"I would _never_!" she exclaimed to herself. Hopefully to herself. She looked around wildly, hoping she was alone.

She was. The infirmary and common room were deserted and dim, only the minimal night lights on. There was hardly a vibration of human wakefulness moving through the air. It was very late. Very early, really.

"I would never, _ever_ hurt anyone!" she added. "Didn't mean for it to go like that!"

She sat up and wrapped her arms around herself. She must have fallen asleep, or very nearly, for her story to go so wrong. She wouldn't hurt Inara. Yes, she was angry, and Inara had certainly acted very badly, but she didn't deserve to be hurt for it. River wouldn't do that!

_(Exercise: Use the foot's contact with the floor as a base to gather power, recalling as always that balance is the key.)_

The words passed through her mind and she straightened. It had been so easy, she realized, moving like she had in her dream. Pulling away from Simon, spinning…

River stood up and moved into the open space in front of the dormitory. She was still for a second, rocking slightly to center her balance on the balls of her feet. She lifted her elbow out beside her, as if someone was holding it there. She pictured a large, strong hand clutching her forearm. Not Simon's – this was someone Bad. Someone who needed to be fought. All it would take was an inward twist of her arm, a step onto her left foot, then a spin and a tilt of her upper body to counterbalance her leg as she lifted it and…

(…_raise the extended leg as high as possible, sweep outward to the side, in a circular movement to strike the opponent's head or shoulders.)_

She did exactly that, whirling and kicking at her imaginary captor, then landing perfectly balanced and ready to move again. Maybe… a chop with her right hand, and raise her left arm to block a swinging fist from a second attacker, then kick backwards at a third, sidestep a club as the first man come in from her blind side (foolishly thinking she can't hear him), then drive an elbow to his neck and land a kick on the second man…

River came back to herself after a series of moves that came out of her body as easily as dance ever had. But this was no dance; she'd imagined her attackers so vividly that she knew exactly how they would have fallen to the floor and could describe the injuries she'd given them in enough detail to rival a diagnosis by Simon.

She'd done this before. For real.

She lifted her hands and looked at them in shock. "I know how to..." she mumbled to herself, but she couldn't finish.

It wasn't like she didn't know. Of course she knew about all the training they'd given her. Of course she'd seen little bits of it in her dreams now and then: the men in padded suits, the diagrams in her head telling her how to win, the physical pain (and inner satisfaction) of landing the edge of her hand exactly where she needed to…

She just hadn't _known_ that she knew.

"This requires more thought," she told herself. "This requires a lot more thought."

o-o-o

Wash filled his lungs with smoke so soft and moist that it tasted creamy. He hadn't had anything like this in a good long time, though it had been a bit of a habit in flight school.

Oddly, good smoke wasn't something they came across often in the Black. Maybe because priorities were a little different out here – and money was scarce. When Jayne had wrangled some of this out of the second whorehouse they'd visited, Wash had spoken up quickly, saying that he expected a fair cut. Jayne had laughed in his face until Wash had mentioned that Zoë would take up the negotiations if Jayne didn't settle up fair.

"Gorramn," Zoë said when it was her turn, "I ain't had any this fresh since the war."

"You smoked in the war?" Wash asked.

"Not often. Just got lucky sometimes – after raidin' Alliance camps, if you'll believe that."

She handed the little pipe back – they both had to stretch to make the exchange. Zoë had her head on the pillow, making proper use of their spacious bed, but Wash had opted for a different view of things. This way he could wrap one arm around her knee and rest his cheek on her ankle.

"Wouldn't it make the… 'grunts'… too mellow to kill people?" he asked.

Zoë's answer was simple. "When the time comes for that, ain't no such thing as mellow."

Wash propped himself up on an elbow while he took another long inhale.

"Mal's changed, you know," Zoë said, her eyes on the ceiling.

Wash straightened a little more and stared at her. He had two excuses for not replying. First – he had no idea what the hell she meant. Second, he'd wasn't ready to exhale.

"Since he got _Serenity_," Zoë said, "he's changed."

Wash's lungs took over and emptied themselves for him. "Are you tellin' me that Mal used to be a pussycat?" he asked with a few half-coughs.

"Nope. He used to be a very angry man."

Wash choked out a sarcastic laugh. "Um… I hate to point out the obvious… "

She ignored his reaction. "Gettin' this ship meant havin' a home," she said. "And gettin' the crew... it all changed him. Gave him somethin' to take care of. When he loses that…"

Wash set the pipe aside and scratched his head. Certainly, his perceptions were a little distorted. Maybe he was hearing this wrong.

"You mean Mal's going to get _worse_?"

"Ain't a matter of worse," Zoë said, lying still, her eyes focused on the ceiling as if the drug didn't effect her at all. "I'm just tellin' you why I got to get him off this ship."

"So, what – he used to shoot babies for sport?"

Zoë tilted her head to the side and looked at him, not at all amused. For a dizzying second, he saw something darken her face: it was the story of Zoë and Mal that lived somewhere inside her head. He'd seen it shine through her eyes from time to time over the years, nearly frightening in its depth and weight. Maybe, he thought, she was finally going to open up and tell him about it…

But she didn't. She dropped her head back onto the pillow and the moment passed.

Wash picked up the pipe and offered it to her.

"One's enough," she said without looking at him. "I gotta be ready to move, if the Shepherd calls."

"Mal won't be waking up for a while, the way he's been."

"Don't matter. I gotta be ready."

Wash shrugged and stretched out on his back, holding her leg close again. He shut his eyes and drifted off as he felt her strong fingers working on the back of his knee.

o-o-o

The bunk wasn't big enough to hold Jayne. He'd had his smoke, and the 'verse was rising and falling away from him again in long, smooth waves. It made him feel that the walls of the little space were too tight around him.

The ship outside his bunk was empty and quiet. Used to be, on the rare times Jayne went out and about in the wee hours, it was an even chance that he'd run into someone creeping around on their own business. Mal'd be walking his rounds like the little ship needed somebody on guard duty. Or maybe Inara'd stop by the galley to fix herself up some kind of stinky tea or another. She'd roll her eyes and disappear in her quiet way when Jayne asked if a lack of business was getting to her. It'd never been rare to hear tinkering sounds from of the engine room in the dead of night, as Kaylee worked out some kink in the system. Less often than that, River'd float through the halls like a spirit that couldn't find any rest. Jayne hated it when the girl did that.

What he didn't see often in these quiet hours was the preacher.

"What're you doin' up?" Jayne asked the old man seated at the table. "It's the middle of the gorramn night."

Book softly hushed him with a _shhh_. He nodded toward the little sitting area; Mal was there, lolling back in one chair with his feet up on another and a blanket spread over him.

"And you're a bit off," the Shepherd added in a soft whisper. "It's near breakfast time."

"Ain't so," Jayne said, keeping his voice low. Book just shrugged.

Jayne turned away, aiming to find someplace else to ride out his high. He was sick of the captain, sick of dealing with the man's nuttiness, and – truth be told – more than a little offended that he'd been forgot. He needed a break, needed one bad enough that he'd even consider putting on a suit just so as he could get off this gorramned ship for a spell.

The infirmary and common room were empty, and he sighed his relief as he collapsed back on one of the sofas – it was much easier than taking a "walk" outside.

But his alone time didn't last long. It wasn't a minute before he noticed two big eyes, glowing like the lamps on an owl, peeking out from above. River'd gotten herself up in the criss-crossing ducts, and was stretched out on one of them like some gorramn monkey.

o-o-o

Book watched Jayne lumber out of the dining room, and briefly wondered what the merc had gotten himself into. Or… gotten into himself. From the way the man's eyes had struggled to focus, it seemed likely that he'd found his own way to stave off reality for a time.

Book's wakefulness, on the other hand, had no unnatural chemicals or escapism behind it. He had a very real matter to weigh in his mind, and sleep wouldn't be coming until his decision was settled.

He'd come to the dining room an hour ago in search of tea, and found Zoë sitting guard over the captain, who was again sleeping in the alcove. Book had been happy to take over, letting the woman get her own rest. This condition of Mal's was hitting Zoë the hardest of all of them, though she was the best at hiding it. Zoë's soul was tied to the captain's in some deep way, and seeing the man fade must have been like watching a part of herself die.

Which lead to Book's problem. Zoë couldn't be left to care for Mal by herself, not even for the short time it would take Simon to do his task. Book was the obvious choice to stay with her on the moon.

His hesitation to insist on it had nothing to do with Mal's cold refusal. Mal wouldn't have talked like that if he'd been fully in his right mind, and, in any case, Zoë's decisions were the ones that really mattered now. Book had an idea that she wouldn't be so quick to turn down his offer of help.

No, what troubled Book about leaving _Serenity_ was his other charge. He'd come here for the sake of River, and he didn't like leaving her with the way things were. In all their concern for the captain, the rest of the crew seemed to be overlooking the danger the girl was still in, and not seeing the worst consequences of the attention they had drawn to themselves on Londinium.

They didn't understand as fully as Book did. He must not let her get taken. What the Alliance would do to her... what they could possibly do _with_ her…

But Book couldn't be two places at once; he couldn't take care of them both. The truth of it was, he needed help.

o-o-o

Jayne had to admit – it was interesting. Different, at least.

He was sprawled on his back on the catwalk, staring up at the shadowed ceiling of the cargo bay. He wasn't sure how River had talked him into this, but the scrambled state of his senses had to be a big part of it.

"That was _down_," River explained. She was lying down too, a little further along the catwalk so that her head wasn't far from his own. She had one long skinny arm pointing up the ceiling. "No gravity," she continued. "I flew all over. Landed on the ceiling, hung from the floor."

"Hunh," was all Jayne had to say.

She dropped her arm down, then added like she was sharing her opinion about what's for dinner, "Still don't want you. For sex."

"Makes sense," he replied. "Seein' as you're crazy and all."

"Not just that," she said. "Many complicated factors to consider. Short term pleasure is not enough. Many people don't understand that, but I'm very smart. It's only logical – have to consider all wavelengths in order in optimize gratification."

Jayne hardly heard her. He was stuck back on thinking of the ceiling like the floor. "You do this gōushī while you're swimming, too, huh?" he asked.

"Pay attention! I don't want you. Need to hear that."

"I got it. Ain't surprised."

"Really?"

"I ain't a nice guy." It didn't upset him to say that; he'd known it all his life.

"There are more important things than being nice," she said. "Nice is boring. Right?"

Jayne tipped his head to the side enough to see her, but she wasn't looking back. She was staring straight up.

"How's come you make more sense when I'm high?" he asked.

She lifted her arm and touched her finger to her head, right by her ear. "Altered brain," she said. Then she pointed to Jayne's head, not quite coming close enough to touch him. "Altered brain."

"Oh," he replied. Again, it made sense. Then he was off on his own thoughts for a while. It was good stuff, this herb he'd got from the whores. Not so crazy that he lost track of everything, but good enough that every little idea he thought on took a life of its own. He never liked thinking so much as when he got high. Never liked thinking at all unless he was high.

"Ya know," he said after a while that could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, "if you really wanted me to, I'd sex you up. You ain't bad to look at."

River didn't answer right away. She thought on it, then said, "You don't really want to. You like women to be sturdy. Also – you think I'm guàidàn."

"Well… yeah. But when it comes down to it, I ain't that choosy."

"I am."

Jayne frowned. That was gorramn close to an insult. "You got no idea what you're sayin'," he told her. "I'm real good at it. Never met a whore wasn't happy to see me second time around, and it ain't cause I pay 'em extra."

River wasn't impressed. "Of course they act happy," she said. "Good for business."

Jayne didn't answer until she added a half minute later: "They fake it."

He rolled to his side, propping himself up on an elbow so he could glare at her. "Just when I'm gettin' to think you ain't bad, you go and say somethin' like that."

"Not nice."

"Yeah, I told you I wasn't – "

"_I'm_ not nice."

He frowned. That much was obvious to him; he'd known it for some time. But he hadn't thought that she saw it that way too. "That so?" he asked.

River nodded without looking at him. She was still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her hands were resting on her stomach, and she began to twist them together and rub her knuckles, like they were sore.

"I'm not nice at all," she said softly.

o-o-o

Kaylee couldn't manage much sleep. But she stayed in her room as long as she could, hoping to avoid anyone having breakfast. Especially Simon.

He must hate her now. She hadn't just refused him, she'd led him on, then refused him. She didn't want to even try to explain, even though she did owe it to him. She needed time to figure it all out herself, first.

She finally crept out of her bunk sometime between breakfast and lunch, fixed her tea as fast as she could, and went to hide in the engine room. It wasn't likely that anyone would bother her there; she had nothing to do with any of Zoë's plans, and no one needed to be talking to her.

Turns out, she wasn't right about that. It wasn't an hour before there was a knock. She looked up – it was Simon.

"Zoë wanted me to talk to you," he said before she could even think of what to do. He held out a few sheets of paper and a data disk. "I've drawn up some plans," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "If we can't purchase what we need on Highgate, we should have a backup. We may have to build this thing ourselves."

"Oh," Kaylee said stupidly. He was talking so calmly, like nothing had ever happened between them. Worse than that, he was looking at her like he hardly knew her.

When she didn't reach out to take the papers, he bent to set them on the deck. "Well, see what you can do," he said, then he turned and left, seeming like he couldn't get away fast enough.

Kaylee took a deep breath and picked up the papers. In truth, this was a blessing. She needed something to occupy her time, besides thinking about Simon. She went to the dining room and spread the diagrams over the table, studying them as intently as she could. No matter that other things were in her mind, she had to work this out. It might be the only chance the captain had, and she wouldn't be letting her own problems come in the way.

This thing was so _exact_. Simon had made plenty of notes on the plans. (It was his way of talking to her without having to actually talk to her; she knew that full well.) There were messages about sensitivities and error bars and geometrical factors… Kaylee had her doubts, and the longer she studied the plans, the more she doubted. If it was any other kind of kind of project, something about getting big greasy engines turning, she'd be fine. But delicate science-y stuff like this wasn't for her. There was no way she'd get this thing to work anytime soon, definitely not in the next few days.

But how could she tell that to Simon? How could she face that blank look in his eyes again, and tell him that he couldn't count on her for this, either?

She clutched the diagrams tighter and tried to get her mind back on business. There had to be a way…

She heard steps coming in from the crew quarters, but didn't look up until the captain spoke.

"Uh… scuse me, but can I help you with somethin'?"

He words were kind but his tone was firm, almost demanding. He was staring in from the fore hatch, not looking hostile like he had with River, Simon, and Book at the birthday party, but clearly he didn't know her.

Her time had come, then.

"Uh… well…" Kaylee looked down at the papers, trying to think of anything reasonable to say. She should have prepared herself for this, but somehow she hadn't figured on being alone with the captain when it happened. And she'd never have thought it would be so soon. She tried to calculate… he'd just forgotten Jayne last night….

"Okay, then," Mal said when she didn't go on, and now he sounded impatient, "how 'bout you help me out and explain who you are and why you're on my ship?"

Kaylee could only stare at him with her mouth half open. He was frowning at her, suspicions all over his face. He wasn't yelling, not yet, but it had to be only a matter of time. It took her back to the day after they'd got him off Oeneus, when he'd forgot where he was and had thought she was someone else. He'd pointed a gun at her then.

This was different, and it was worse. He may not have a gun on his hip, but he was seeing her exactly as she was, and he was ready to take her for an enemy anyway. It nearly broke her heart.

"Zoë," she finally managed to say. "Zoë asked me to, uh…"

Mal turned around and punched the comm. "Zoë!" he yelled into it. "Get up here!" He released the button and took a few more steps toward Kaylee.

"She asked you to what?"

Kaylee shrank back into her seat. She couldn't help it – he was frightening, talking hard like that.

"I was helping…" No, can't mention Simon. "I was helping her with building somethin'." She held up the diagram like it would explain for her. "I… build things."

Mal stepped closer and snatched the paper away from her. "What the hell is this?"

"Never you mind, captain," Zoë called out as she jogged in from her bunk. "That's just a lady friend of Bester's. We're givin' her a lift out to Highgate."

Kaylee blew her breath out in relief when the captain turned his confusion on Zoë; it was like a painfully bright light had been moved off of her.

"Since when did we become a gorramn floating palace of sin?" Mal demanded. "That mechanic needs to keep busy fixing my ship, not offering free rides to every floozy who gives him a bit a' trim."

"Floozy?" Kaylee repeated to herself.

"And when the hell did someone paint flowers all over my galley!" Mal demanded, his voice raised almost to a yell. Kaylee looked around at the paintings that had taken her several days to do; at the time, Mal'd told her he liked them. He'd said they made the place homey.

"Captain," Zoë said quickly. "This girl's doin' good work. She's helpin' Bester out."

"I don't need two gorramn mechanics and I certainly don't need an extra mechanic that I never even offered a job!"

Zoë sighed and looked at Kaylee. "How 'bout you go to the engine room and check on Bester while I talk to the captain," she said.

Kaylee nodded and gathered her things while Zoë started in on the usual argument with Mal – the one where he told her she shouldn't go and do things without his permission. It made Kaylee want to scream, hearing him say that again. It made her want to grab hold of him and shake him, to demand that he stop being like that. There had to be some way he could just cut it out!

But of course there wasn't. He was sick, and she should be feeling bad for him, not angry.

She ran out of there as quick as she could, starting toward the engine room, but then she turned aside. She couldn't just stay still - she needed to talk to someone. Not Simon; there'd be no more kind words and silly movies with him. She'd ruined any chance at that. But she had another choice; there was one person who would really understand and say all the right things to keep Kaylee from falling all apart.

She ducked into Shuttle One, closing the hatch behind her, and sat in front of the cortex screen. Zoë'd taken them off the system as soon as they got away from Londinium, so none of the baddies would be able to track the ship. She'd be mad as hell if she found out about this, but Kaylee had to talk to Inara.

It didn't take but a minute to find the address of the House on Sihnon. The Companions there weren't listed by name, so she waved the main line.

"Hi," Kaylee said to the pretty face who answered. "I was hopin' to talk to Inara Serra if I could."

"I'm sorry," the woman replied. "Miss Serra no longer resides here."

Kaylee couldn't speak for a few seconds. It'd never even occurred to her that she wouldn't be able to reach Inara. "Can ya tell me where she's moved to?" she finally asked.

"She left no contact information."

Kaylee felt like the shuttle was closing in on her. Inara gone? Out of reach?

"But… I really, really got to talk to her," she said. "Ain't you got some way of finding her? Ain't it Guild rules that Companions have to let you know where they're at?"

"Inara Serra is currently suspended from the Guild."

"Suspended? But – why?"

"That's a private matter. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I…. No, I guess not."

Kaylee shut off the cortex screen, then she folded her legs up on the chair and buried her head in her hands.

o-o-o

Translations  
dăi, chòu: evil, smelly  
gŏushĭ duī: pile of dog shit  
tù zăi zi: son of a rabbit!  
Rén cí de Fozu: Merciful Buddha  
gōushī: crap  
guàidàn: freak; weird


	14. Chapter 14 of 14

**Back Stories Book I**

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Ziyuan Landing Field, Sihnon

Trevor Marone stepped out of a hired city transport and walked toward the interplanetary cruiser that the Alliance had supplied for his personal use. He moved with slow, even steps, forcing himself to remain composed and unruffled in his outward appearance.

Marone wasn't a man to get angry, and on the rare times he did he had no idea what to do about it. At the moment, his whole body ached with the strain of holding his frustrations in check. When he reached his cruiser, he released the lock and opened the hatch gently, ignoring an urge to swing it back hard enough to make it slam against the outer hull. He wouldn't allow himself to behave like that – a tantrum did no one any good.

"What'd she tell you?" Will Cantone asked as soon as Marone entered the craft. Will was sitting in one of the soft gray leather chairs in the main cabin of the ship; his partner, Ginger, was further back. She was watching a vid screen – some kind of sporting event by the sound of it.

Marone ignored Will's question and Ginger's curious look. He knew better than to undermine his own authority by taking his anger out on his subordinates, and that was all he was likely to do if he opened his mouth at this point. He went straight into the small private cabin in the front of the ship, closing the hatch behind him gently, with only a barely audible click.

But then he didn't know what to do. He stood in the center of the room, his anger growing as he thought his situation over.

Inara Serra had walked out on him.

Part of him raged at her, and at the other Companions who'd kept him tied up with frustratingly indirect responses to his questions and demands. But the bulk of his anger was aimed squarely at himself; he should have known better than to try to manipulate a Companion. Perhaps he'd thought that the past was enough to guarantee her trust, and that had blinded him. Clearly, he'd underestimated the strength of her protectiveness toward the crew of the Firefly.

He also hadn't counted on the OPR being involved. Those fools must have done something to frighten her, to make her abandon the interview so suddenly….

That thought finally provided him a fitting target for his anger. He keyed on the cortex, allowing himself the satisfaction of pounding on the hapless pads of the keyboard.

The woman who answered his wave appeared to have been woken by it. "Mr. Marone?" she asked blearily as she pushed her dark hair back from her face.

"Agent Alvarez," he answered tightly. "I want to know what the hell you're doing getting involved in my case."

She squinted at him. "Your case?"

"You interviewed Inara Serra," he said, the words coming out with all the force of an accusation, "without notifying me! Did you threaten her in any way?"

Alvarez rubbed her eyes, feeding his irritation by not replying immediately. She was silent for a few long seconds, staring to the side thoughtfully, and when she looked at the screen again she seemed more focused.

"Mr. Marone, this is not entirely _your_ case. It never was. We have our own responsibilities, and Miss Serra's input could be very valuable–"

"You _did_ threaten her," he said. "And now she's gone!"

The agent's eyes widened; she suddenly seemed very awake. "She's what?"

"She left! Oh – the Companions gave me some excuse about her needing to take care of her family. I'm sure you've done your research as well as I have, and we both know that's a lie. She ran to avoid questions about the crew of the Firefly."

Alvarez didn't argue with his assessment; she seemed eager to take action. "When?" she asked. "How long has she had?"

"They kept me waiting in that parlor for nearly an hour, and then it must have taken another half hour until I got them to admit that she wasn't–" He stopped when he checked his watch, shocked at how much time had passed. The Companions had kept him occupied longer than he'd thought. "Bù găn xiāng xìn – it's been nearly three hours since I saw her."

"How far have you tracked her?"

The question made Marone sigh and slouch, his anger wilting as he realized how truly careless he'd been. All this intrigue simply wasn't his thing. "I didn't have anyone set up to watch her," he admitted. "I never expected – "

"I'll see what I can find," Alvarez interrupted. She looked away from the screen, her hands busy outside his view as she continued to mutter distractedly. "I just hope it hasn't been too long. I'll contact the House. We may have no choice now; if you've lost her, I'll have to bring charges, just to force those gorramn women to help–"

"Charges? Against a Companion?"

Alvarez looked at him sharply. "We have to get her back, Mr. Marone. Any way we can." With that, she cut off the transmission.

Marone fell back in his seat, his anger spent. He really had made a mess of this. Maybe he should have been candid with the Companion, and to hell with the consequences. He might have told her the truth, if she'd just given him more time…

Something grabbed his attention and he looked back at the cortex screen; an icon was blinking in the corner of it. He had a message, tagged as urgent.

What it said did much to improve his mood, and he let out a long sigh of relief. He'd had his people scouring the Border worlds for information about the Firefly, and they'd found something. This might make it possible to succeed at his real goal – to find Captain Reynolds – with or without the Companion's help.

He returned to the main room to give Will and Ginger new orders.

Ginger Larkin avidly watched the viewscreen that she'd unfolded from the bulkhead beside her. Marone's fancy transport had all manner of entertainment: games, vids, a long list of funny or dramatic or adventurous shows going back to before her grandparent's time. She'd never learned to care for the ups and downs of a bunch of play-actors – she couldn't see them as anything but pretenders – but she'd found a live broadcast of a sporting event. That was working just fine.

She'd never understood the rules of polo, but the game wasn't the point. She liked the men. She liked how the muscular shapes of their thighs showed through the fabric of their white pants when they stood up in their saddles. She liked how they moved with their horses as if it was all one creature, pulling up and changing directions in a perfectly balanced half a second, then racing across the grass, mallets swinging from well-formed arms and chests….

Ginger sighed. She did enjoy men – their bodies, anyhow. The thought made her a touch down-hearted, because her days of that kind of fun could very well be over. An occasional lay just wasn't worth putting up with the crap that men had in their heads.

Not that she'd ever thought highly of what any man could bring to her life, but in the past few weeks she'd been burned hard, and the sting wasn't fading. She'd thought she had a good arrangement with Will. She'd thought she was keeping herself free and clear while she took what she wanted from him. But she hadn't seen to the root of the real game Will played, and she'd lost in the end. Now she didn't have the freedom that was all she'd ever asked of life; that bastard held her reins as sure as if she'd handed them over with a _please_ and _thank you_.

Her bitter thoughts were cut off when Marone came back out of his private room; he nodded at her with his usual blandly pleasant smile. It made her uneasy. No matter how Marone dressed up and acted smooth, he had to have the same kind of twisted thoughts in his head that Will did, and Ginger didn't trust him a bit. She'd learned the hard way that men who smiled were just playing out a ruse, trying to get at something they didn't want to be open about. She'd be damned if she let herself get caught up with the lies of any man this verse had to offer.

Marone wasn't fazed by her glare; his smile stayed where it was as his eyes settled on Will, and he spoke up with a light, cheerful voice. "Mr. Cantone, it's time for you and your partner to return to your own transport. We have a lead. I know where _Serenity_ was as of four days ago, and I've learned the name of a man that Reynolds frequently does business with."

"We're going after him alone?" Will asked, sounding eager. Ginger wasn't surprised at that; Will'd never liked working when he wasn't the one in charge. He wasn't able to do things his own way when there were folks looking over his shoulder.

"I have things to do here," Marone answered. "You two will have to track this down, at least for a few days, until I can get free. When you do find Reynolds, keep him in your sights and wave me immediately, but don't interfere with him unless you're absolutely certain you can detain him."

"I thought we weren't supposed to make any contact," Will said.

"Time is running out," Marone replied, his smile fading just a bit. "But you have to use caution – if you miss him and he slips away, he'll go into hiding and…. Well, that would be a shame."

"Don't worry about a thing," Will said with a grin, and he stood up. "Come on, Larkin. Take to get to work."

Ginger shut down her view screen, barely listening as Marone explained the details. They were going to Persephone, that much she caught. She wasn't looking forward to the journey, to being stuck in a small ship with Will, but, thankfully, the transport Marone had supplied for them was one the fastest in the Alliance's fleet. It wouldn't take more than a day to get out to the Border world.

Then they'd be hunting down a fella named… Badger?

o-o-o

VT-90 Personal Transport, just outside Sihnon local space

Inara Serra settled into the creaking pilot's seat of her new ship. The small vessel exactly suited her needs; the outer shell of it was old and worn, but the engine had been recently rebuilt. It would get her from world to world quickly and without attracting attention.

She'd had a chaotic time acquiring it. After she'd left the house, she'd spent over two hours looping around the city, trying to ensure that she wouldn't be tracked. Truthfully, she'd felt like a paranoid fool much of the time, like she was playing out a bad spy story fantasy. But she'd kept reminding herself of the threats of the OPR agents, and of the things that had happened to River and Mal. The beauty and luxury of the city weren't such a solid promise of personal security as she'd once believed; this knowledge had been enough to scare her into several tricks of misdirection.

She had many friends in the city, and access to places that security cams couldn't see. She'd made use of all of these she could think of, changing her appearance several times and ending up in plain, shapeless clothes. Finally, she'd found a sympathetic hovertaxi driver to bring her a transport. Inara had explained to the woman that she was a sneaking away to meet her offworld lover, a situation the driver seemed eager to help with, especially since the favor came with an insanely large tip. The woman'd left Inara outside the city and returned in less than half an hour with the VT-90, fully fueled and ready to travel.

Now, Inara was finally out of Sihnon's local space, and for the first time since Lina had come out to the balcony of the House, she had time to think.

She needed to set in a course. The task she had ahead of her wasn't easy; searching out one small ship, a mere eight people amongst the hundreds of billions spread across this wide verse, was hard enough, but Inara was also in a race against a government with nearly limitless manpower and access to information networks that reached into every world. There was only one way she could win – she knew more about Mal than the Alliance ever would.

The letter from Kaylee was sitting on the console, but Inara had read it over so many times that each uneven loop of the handwriting was clearly inscribed in her memory. She didn't have to look at it again to recall the words:

_Looks like we are back to business how we used to do it. We  
went by Persephone and the captain got some work from Badger.  
It's gone good this time. Has so far anyhow, we ain't quite done  
yet – things to sell. _

Things to sell – on Londinium, perhaps? The letter had been sent from that world. Inara could be there in only a few hours…. But, what then? She had no idea where to start looking, and on a Core world she'd likely be identified and tracked.

No, ever since she'd decided to leave Sihnon, Inara'd known exactly where she needed to go. Mal would have to return to Badger eventually, to sort out the earnings of whatever job he was doing. If she was exceptionally lucky, she might find _Serenity_ on Persephone. If not, Badger would know something about where they'd gone. He might not want to share, but she'd deal with that when the time came.

o-o-o

_Malcolm Reynolds leads Zoë up the back stairs of the Firefly, pausing twice to warn of spots where the metal grill of the stairs is rusted through. He can't have her breaking a leg on her first tour of their new home. The infirmary isn't set up yet._

_The idea that he'll someday have his own working infirmary makes Mal grin like a madman. He can't help it; he's feeling almost light-headed with optimism. Ever since he laid eyes on this hunk of metal, he's known what it can be for him, for them both. He hasn't felt this kind of hope in a long time, but now it's sparking up inside him like some kind of holiday fireworks, making him feel a good five years younger and decades more innocent than he has any right to be. _

_Zoë isn't exactly sharing his buoyant mood. They enter the main room on the upper level of the ship, and she frowns as her eyes run up the aged bulkheads to the broken windows above. She moves into a side space that might once have been a working galley and runs a finger along the counter set in the wall. Her mouth twists in disgust. _

"_You expect to keep food in here?" she asks doubtfully. "And then eat it?"_

"_Now, that don't need nothin' but a little elbow grease," Mal replies. He ignores the raised eyebrow that's asking if he understands exactly how much elbow grease is involved. Zoë's doubt doesn't bother him. Doubt's a healthy thing; it gets to the kind of practical details that are all over a ship like this. _

_Mal may be feeling optimistic, but that doesn't make him stupid. This Firefly is going to take all kinds of work, years of it, maybe, before it gets to be how he pictures. It'll be long, hard days of labor, and lots of money – more than he and Zoë pocketed off the job on Du-Khang. But they've got enough to buy this thing, and, as his momma used to say, the only way to finish a task is to set out on it in the first place._

"_Cheer up," he tells Zoë. She flashes him a frown; it's not often that he's the one saying things like that, not these days. The oddity of it only adds to his good mood. "This ship's got all we need," he goes on. "Cargo space a'plenty, and you know how these birds got all their hidden places, to keep any special kind of cargo out of sight. We got the crew quarters right up here by the bridge, and plenty a' room for livin' – we can set up a dinner table in here, and something soft for loungin' on over in the little side area there. And you seen the dorms down below for passengers..."_

_He pauses as he thinks about that. It won't be just him and Zoë on this ship; plenty of other souls are out there, wondering lost and needing a place to shelter from the changes that have come over the verse in the past few years. It could be that some of those might find their way to this ship in the years to come, and they'll leave marks on their own on this hunk of metal. _

_The thought brings him an intense longing, an almost unbearable impatience that burns in his belly. He wants to see it, the group that will someday gather in this very room, sharing a meal and a few laughs in the warm glow of lamplight, with the freedom of the empty Black outside the windows above…_

"Come on, Captain. You need to help."

Mal felt a solid arm sliding under his shoulder and lifting him. He didn't want to get up, not at all, but the tone of Zoë's voice was insistent.

"That's it. Right on your feet. Just a little help…. We got the rest."

He tried to focus, but he was so tired that his gorramn eyelids wouldn't stay up. The things he managed to see stayed at a distance; even Zoë's voice in his ear was far away, though she was right up against him, wedged under his arm.

Someone was on Mal's other side, too. Mal turned his head and caught a glimpse of a gray tunic and gray hair on a dark-skinned old man. Old, but tall and solidly built, and being just as pushy as Zoë. Mal needed the help – if he was truly supposed to be standing, that was. At the moment, laying down seemed like a more natural state of being.

But Zoë and the old man didn't leave him much choice, and he hadn't the energy to complain. They got him up and guided him through a door in what he barely saw to be a little yellow room, a bunk of some sort. They were following after a young man with dark hair; Mal was a vaguely curious about who these men helping Zoë were, and where they were all taking him, but it was far beyond him to put together actual questions. So, so far beyond him…

_This ain't a natural kind'a tired,_ he realized faintly. _I'm doped. _

He couldn't rouse himself enough to be properly mad about it. "Wanna sleep," he mumbled to Zoë.

"You'll be sleepin' all you want," she replied, her voice still coming from a distance. "Just need to get you to your bedroll."

They turned a corner and climbed a few steps, then they were in a large room, and he recognized it. It pulled him a tiny bit more awake.

"S'all cleaned up," he said. "You… cleaned her up."

Zoë didn't reply. She and the old man just led him on, through the Firefly's cargo bay and toward the light of a dull, drizzly day.

o-o-o

Hoban Washburn set down a box holding a few heavy iron pots; it was the last of the gear that needed to be moved off the ship. He would have appreciated help from someone other than Kaylee in carrying it all out, but no one else was available. Simon and Zoë were busy getting Mal set to go, and they'd called for Book's help. River was firmly settled on the catwalk above the infirmary hatch, stretched out on the walkway and staring at the ceiling, lost in whatever thoughts had been occupying her these days. Jayne, in true form, had disappeared as soon as the work started. After all, no pay was involved.

But the carrying was done now, and Wash stood and stretched the cramped muscles of his back as he surveyed the campsite. That was Zoë's name for it. To be honest, he thought the title was generously given, and he wasn't especially thrilled to be leaving his wife here. The place was bleak. More than bleak – it seemed like what life had managed to take hold should just as well give up and die. It couldn't be enjoying its existence on this ugly rock.

The moon was tidally locked, which meant that each local day had the same length as a full revolution around Highgate – nearly three standard weeks. The weather patterns were fixed to the same schedule, but in a way that didn't exactly make for nice vacationing.

Zoë had chosen to set up on a part of the moon currently seeing late afternoon. Despite the thick cloud cover and continual drizzle, it was the best weather that the slow days offered. High noon, off beyond the western horizon, was hot and continually thrashed by violent storms. The dark of night to the east was dangerously cold. The twilight rim of the world, at this latitude, was fairly stable and comfortable – if an endless gray drizzle could be called that.

The odd weather of the moon didn't do much as far as encouraging vegetation; the only thing somewhat close to living on the upper stretch of this hillside was the hardy brown moss that coated the stones. Wash's boots slipped on it as he climbed up to the rim of the low hill that rose from the camp; as soon as he cleared the ridge, a chill breeze cut right through his coat and sweater. It appeared that the rocky hill sheltered the camp from the worst of the cold blowing in from the moon's nightside.

He braved the wind for another moment so he could turn back and look down at the camp, and he saw more wisdom in his wife's choice of location. The slope flattened out to his right, providing a landing pad for _Serenity_, but a deep gully to his left would carry rainwater away without flooding the site. Further down the slope, the dark, stunted shapes of trees crowded the valley. The wood would be needed; Wash just wished he had the time to gather a pile of it. Zoë, Mal, and Book would be going through a lot to keep themselves warm and dry. But Zoë had been adamant that this stop be as short as possible. She wanted the ship to move on.

Kaylee had apparently decided to ignore that order; she had gotten herself busy anchoring four supports so she could stretch a tarp over a flat space between a few boulders. Wash slipped back down the hill to help her; it was better than standing around shivering.

Working together, they finished quickly. Kaylee wordlessly continued with chores; she started inflating one of the sleeping pads. Wash dug out another tarp to stretch over the pile of gear and supplies, but he barely set to it before he heard voices approaching from the ship.

Simon came down the ramp carrying a small med bag, followed by Zoë and Book, who were guiding Mal. Wash abandoned his task to watch; they hadn't drugged the captain enough to knock him out, just enough to make him malleable, and the result wasn't pretty.

"You like her, don'cha?" Mal asked drunkenly.

"She's a fine ship, Sarge," Zoë replied in a low, soothing voice. "I take it all back. You did well, buyin' her. Needs a little work though – Wash's gonna take her to get fixed up, and we'll stay here. She'll be runnin' fine when she gets back."

"Damned right," Mal slurred with a smug grin. "Run smooth, someday. Ain't no death trap. She's…" He tried to stop and turn back to look at _Serenity_, but Zoë and Book led him on. Wash stepped out of their way; he wasn't sure how to handle this situation.

Kaylee wasn't so shy. "Spot's ready for him. Zoë," she called out, pointing at the little shelter she'd put up.

"Thought I told you not to bother with all this," Zoë said.

"Captain needs a place to sit," Kaylee replied stubbornly. "Sides, didn't hardly take a minute."

Zoë didn't reply, but she and Book led Mal over and set him down on the sleeping pad.

"Gonna be a home," Mal mumbled as he smiled at _Serenity_. "Ain't no one gonna … Hey – who's takin' my ship? Wash?"

Zoë looked up and caught Wash's eye. "That's right, sir," she replied patiently.

Mal snorted. "That a person?" he asked. "Odd name if I ever heard one…"

o-o-o

Kaywinnet Lee Frye could see that Zoë didn't want any help with the captain, but she wasn't about to be put off. The man was too weighed down by Simon's drugs to take note of who was tending to him, so there wasn't much danger that she'd make him act up by just sitting with him. Besides, Zoë'd got herself busy talking out the last of her business with Simon. Kaylee wouldn't be holding up the ship's leave-taking if she stayed for a bit.

"Wash," Mal mumbled. "Hog-wash."

He smiled to himself like there was a joke that he wasn't awake enough to explain. Kaylee couldn't help herself; she put a hand on his cheek, wishing there was a way to say a proper goodbye.

The touch made his heavy eyes focus on her. "I know you?" he asked.

"You will someday," she told him.

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. But then he smiled and muttered again: "Gorramn hogwash."

Kaylee looked up at Wash. The poor man was standing aside from the camp now, his arms folded against the chill as he waited for his turn to talk to his wife. He hated this; Kaylee could see that well enough. She hated it too. It made no sense to leave the captain out here in this cold and ugly place. He needed to be cared for, and that'd be so much easier on the ship.

But Zoë must of had her reasons to keep him here. Same as Inara'd had her reasons for leaving like she had. Same as Kaylee'd had her reasons for pushing Simon away.

She sighed and shook her head, still upset with herself. It seemed like everyone had all kinds of reasons, all kinds of Bad that had happened to them, and that made it okay for them to act however they saw fit. The way the Bad got handed on made life get all kinds of complicated. And yet, no one ever seemed to just let the past go. Well, no one but the captain.

"Lots of cleanin'," he said to himself. "Cleanin'… and a mechanic. And a pilot. I'm gonna get her up and flyin'..."

"No," Kaylee said softly. "You're gonna forget her."

Mal didn't reply; he closed his eyes and sighed, and his smile slowly faded.

Just a few days ago, Kaylee'd told Jayne that the captain's memory loss could be seen as a blessing. She'd thought that maybe Mal'd be better off if he didn't have to hold on to all the Bad things – the evils he'd seen, and the evils he surely had done, because all kinds of Bad must happen in a war.

Now, she was thinking that life wasn't so easy. The captain was losing out on so much, the good right along with the bad. It seemed you couldn't have one without the other, not out here in the Black. Maybe there were still nice places where folks could live without hating, without knowing that they might hurt each other, but Kaylee wasn't living in one of those anymore. No matter how the captain and Zoë tried to protect her, and themselves, bad things got through. Kaylee couldn't hide from it. And she couldn't hide from the bad parts of herself that rose up in answer.

_Have you ever been raped?_

Kaylee sat back against a rock, fear and disgust twisting her stomach as Jubal Early's words played in her mind.

_Ain't nothing but a body to me, and I can think of all manner of uses for it._

Her body, the only possession that was really and truly hers, and her only way of being part of this life – just a _thing_ to him. A thing he wouldn't think twice to hurt. Destroy, even, if he was in a mood to do it. He'd made her feel so helpless, and so very useless. If she'd been a better, stronger kind of person, she'd have been able to fight him. Sure as anything, Zoë wouldn't have ended up laying on the deck, her hands tied behind her back and tears on her cheeks.

Kaylee took a deep breath as the fear in her gut turned into something else, something she'd gotten to know well by now. She was mad; she was mad as hell. She was mad at people who'd push themselves into her life and force her to make decisions like she had in the past few months. Be a victim, or be a killer – which one was she supposed to feel better about? What if she didn't want to be either one?

But what she wanted didn't matter; they hadn't left her any third choice.

She looked down at the captain again – he still had his eyes closed, and was quiet. He sure never chose to be a victim, but here he was, helpless as a newborn babe. And Zoë, with all her strength and iron will power, had nothing to do but care for him and hope that the others would come through and save him.

Kaylee's eyes shifted to Simon, who was still talking to Zoë. He was trying so hard; he always did. He'd spent every minute of their trip in the infirmary, studying the imager results, maybe not even taking a break to sleep. Now his eyes were dull and his face was gray, but he still spoke to Zoë patiently, showing her medicines from the bag he was holding. There was no judgment in Simon, only a will to heal and to make things right, best as he could.

He had to be living a lonely life, Kaylee realized, all caught up in his complicated doctor thoughts and his worries about River and Mal. And that careful control he had over himself… that he'd almost lost. Twice now, she'd brought him to that point, but then she'd backed away. She'd been the one to make it end. That was the sad truth of it – Simon wasn't the one being afraid here, she was.

And that was stupid. That was bào xīn jiù huŏ. Kaylee'd been doing nothing but looking at how things were going for her, and she was seeing the Shepherd had been right about what he'd told her when they visited his Abbey on Persephone. Hurting is a part of life. There wasn't any sense in trying to keep yourself back and clear from pain, from either receiving hurts or giving them.

Kaylee understood that now. She knew how she could be hurt, and she knew how she could do hurt, too. It didn't matter that she didn't want to. Maybe she'd been a fool to think she was above that, that she wouldn't ever take part in it.

_This is life,_ she told herself. _There's no use playing pretend. I gotta face what's real._

She looked over the crew again, the people who were as close to family as she had in the here and now: Mal so sick he might not ever get better, Zoë and Book about to stay in this horrible place, Wash standing alone and shivering in the rain, and Simon slumped under the weight of everything he was trying to do.

River and Jayne were still in the ship somewhere, maybe hiding so they wouldn't have to say any painful goodbyes. Kaylee didn't want to be like that; she didn't want to hide anymore. She took the captain's limp hand and stared off into the gray of the sky.

_All this awfulness is real life, and I can't ever go back to not knowin' about it. I got to live in this 'verse, whether I like it or not. I got to make do, as best I can. Right here and right now._

o-o-o

_River Tam creeps through the shadows in the depths of the forest, the darkest places where the trunks are the thickest. She makes no sound; her feet tread on pine needles and her hands gently part the branches just enough for her slight black-clad form to slip through. She's almost free now; she's almost completed her Quest. _

_But she can't get over-confident yet; she sends her special senses out before her to find the obstacles that she knows are out there…._

_There are five of them, right on the edge of the forest. River hears them waiting – she picks up the soft hiss of their exhalations and the louder violence of their thoughts. These men are trained to hurt; the handing out of pain is all they know or care for. _

_She attacks from the shadows, silent and nearly impossible to see because of the black shinobi shozoku that covers everything but her eyes. Two of them are down before the others can even react. The other three are defeated in quick succession: a blow to the head, a handful of broken ribs, a crushed larynx. _

_River continues her escape on silent feet, clutching her precious burden against her side. She has to bring it back in time. To her brother, and to Him._

_The high grasses of the meadow provide cover for a dozen more fighters, but they are spread out and she never faces more than three at a time. Not that any number of them could stop her, but fighting many at once would take longer, and she must hurry. _

_The grass whispers as she passes through, and down they all go – a broken leg, a concussion, a dislocated shoulder… on and on, she does her dance and wins her way._

_The stream crossing can only be earned by defeating four more. These last are elite warriors; they wear red robes. Like poisonous frogs, they openly declare their presence rather than trying to hide. River respects that by approaching along the path, letting them see her and prepare. _

_This battle takes a full minute to finish; she takes a few blows, but carefully positions her body to protect the prize she's fought so hard to win. In the end she leaves the Red Guard's broken bodies behind her._

_She reaches the other side of the river to find her brother and the others waiting. She immediately hands Simon the thing she has gone to such lengths to find. He unrolls the strip of silk; what it covers is wrinkled and ugly, but it draws a gasp from at least one of the group that gathers around._

"_You found it!" Inara says. "The heart of the ginseng!"_

"_The rarest form," Simon says, and he caresses the root once before he turns to carry it into the tent. River pauses to unwrap the sanjaku-tenugui from her head before she follows him, but a hand of her arm stops her._

"_You did it," Inara says, her brown eyes wide in amazement. "I can't believe you found it, and got back so quickly…"_

"_I have skills," River says, standing so tall that she nearly matches the older woman's height. "Not just skills. I have… powers. But my powers are used only for good."_

_Inara drops her head, looking toward the tent where Simon is working, the same tent that holds a very sick man. "You've saved him," Inara says. "I could never have done it. You… deserve him." Without saying another word, Inara turns and leaves, her head bowed in grief. For a few seconds, River stares after the woman in pity – she isn't the type of person to gloat in victory over her rival. River is kinder than that. She is Good._

_When she ducks into the tent, she sees that Simon has already extracted some precious golden juice from the ginseng. As she watches, he lets a few powerful drops of the fluid fall between the sleeping man's lips. River falls to her knees beside the bed as her beloved's eyelids flutter, and then he focuses on her. In his eyes, she sees recognition, and she knows that she's done it. She's saved him…_

River smiled and rolled onto her side, looking down into the cargo bay.

"I _will_ be nice," she said to herself. "Only do good. I have power. I'll save him..."

She'd been so busy in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed Jayne come into the bay. He was sitting on a box against the bulkhead, paying no attention to her. Busy with his own thoughts, too. She left him alone and closed her eyes again.

_Mal lifts a hand up to her cheek and smiles at her, then she leans down and kisses him, tasting a hint of the potent ginseng on his lips…_

o-o-o

Darriel Book didn't take part in the discussion between Zoë and Simon, but he stayed close enough to hear what the doctor had to say.

Simon had barely slept during the trip, and his weariness was making him speak slowly and often repeat himself. Zoë, on the other hand, seemed to be running in a faster speed than usual, as if she was jittery with worry and impatience. With good reason – it seemed that every minute that passed meant days of Mal's memory were lost.

"I do have some ideas as to why he's getting worse – " Simon said, but Zoë interrupted him.

"You've covered that, but we don't have time for details. I'll give him all this…" She looked into the bag that Simon had given her; it was full of syringes and a few vials of clear liquid.

"It's all labeled, in case you forget –" Simon said.

"I won't forget a thing," Zoë said firmly.

" – but if you keep him to the schedule, this medication will slow down all his thought processes, including the deterioration. Not a lot, but…"

"Any bit helps. Thanks, Doc." Zoë gave him a dismissive nod.

Simon didn't take the hint – it seemed he had one more thing to add. "Zoë," he said, "Mal's not likely to be a whole lot more aware when the sedation wears off, not with these other drugs in his system."

"Your point?"

"There's really no reason for him to stay here. Especially in these conditions; he'd be so much more comfortable on _Serenity_, and I could monitor him –"

That sounded reasonable to Book, but Zoë would have none of it. "It is how it is, Doc, and the plan ain't gonna change. Is this all you got for me?"

Simon nodded, resigned. "Yes, that's all."

Zoë turned away, looking toward Wash. Book understood – she needed a private moment. He put a hand on Simon's shoulder and turned the doctor back toward the ship. Simon easily went where he was led, an expression of confusion and weariness on his face. The sight made Book feel a tinge of pity and concern for the young man.

"Thank you, Simon," he said. "You've done a lot of work in the past two days. But I hope you can get some rest before you reach Highgate."

"Oh," Simon distractedly. "I will. At least, a little. The clinic is on the night side. We won't be able to meet our contact for several hours."

"You're not going to speak to this woman yourself?" Book asked, feeling a little alarmed. Surely, Simon couldn't be tired enough to have forgotten that he was a fugitive.

To his relief, Simon shook his head. "No, I can't let her know that I'm here. I'm sure she's heard about me by now, and knows that I… I…. Someone else will go."

Simon looked into the cargo bay, and Book could almost hear his thoughts. Simon didn't have many options; besides his sister, there would only be Wash, Jayne, and Kaylee left on the ship. "Maybe… Wash," Simon said softly.

Book couldn't be helpful with that; Simon would have to do this on his own. Book didn't fear it – he had an idea that Simon was up to the task, even as exhausted as he was. The young man was quite capable, maybe even more than he knew himself.

He gave Simon's shoulder a squeeze. "Good luck, son," he said. Simon replied with a faint nod before he turned and walked back toward the infirmary.

Book had one more bit of business that needed to be handled. He was about to use the comm to summon Jayne, but then he saw that the merc was in the cargo bay already, perched on a box against the port bulkhead.

o-o-o

Jayne Cobb wasn't about to get into any long goodbyes. But sitting up top, acting like nothing was happening and this was a day just like any other, was too unsettling for him.

He made his way down to the cargo bay, sneaking in after all Zoë's stuff was unloaded. He took special care to avoid River; the girl was on the catwalk doing her usual empty staring thing, and he'd had enough of that to last him a while.

He looked out the open doors once, just long enough to get a glimpse of the shithole moon that Zoë had some wild hair to camp out on, then found himself a place to stay holed up inside – still in the bay, just close enough to see what was happening but hopefully out the way. He didn't want to talk to anyone.

Idiots, all of them; that's what he'd decided. The gears in his mind had got to turning and hadn't stopped once during the long, empty hours of this trip. (It was probably that gorramned girl's fault – maybe thinking too much spread like a flu bug, and he'd caught it from her.) In the end, no matter how he tried not to, he'd thought this whole mess through, up one side and down the other, and he'd worked a few things out.

The main point was, he hadn't joined this ship to play nurse to some bitter war vet who couldn't keep his own head together. Jayne had signed on for the money, and he'd stayed because – this he'd only worked out this morning, and it'd been a painful thing to admit – he'd stayed on because Malcolm Reynolds knew how to run a crew. No matter how much folks on this ship griped about complications, Jayne hadn't ever been in a place where so many things were right. And maybe he'd spent a good bunch of his own time mouthing off about this and that, but when in his life hadn't that been the case?

The truth was, Jayne liked it here. Well, he used to like it here. He didn't like it any more.

He straightened up with a shake of his head when the Shepherd came up the ramp into the cargo bay, leading Simon along like the doc couldn't walk a straight line on his own. Jayne tried to make his face empty – he didn't want anyone see what he was thinking and figure out his plan.

First chance he got, he meant to gather his things and slip away. It was best to do it clean; if the crew knew, they'd argue, or to make him feel bad over it, or – worst – get all sad like they'd miss him. He could see Kaylee doing that, or the Shepherd, if he gave them the chance.

When Simon went on into the ship, Jayne dropped his head and crossed his fingers, hoping that Book would leave him be. But the old man walked right over.

Jayne swore under his breath, then lifted his head and spoke gruffly. "Y'all set up?"

"Almost," Book replied. "There's one more thing – I have a favor to ask of you."

Common sense told Jayne to refuse outright, not even give the preacher a chance to wrangle him into anything, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He might not be seeing the Shepherd much anymore, and that did grate on him. He couldn't deny that he'd taken a liking to the old man. "What's that?" he asked.

Book came up close and talked quiet, like this was some kind of secret. "It's about River."

Jayne frowned; he hadn't been expecting that. He suddenly wished he had just said a quick No way. Or better yet, stayed put in his bunk.

"I fear that all this…" Book tipped his head toward the camp outside, but then he paused when Kaylee came in. She didn't seem to notice them – she was walking fast, her eyes straight ahead like she had a purpose. Like she had things to do. She passed right through and out the aft hatch, and Book went on.

"I fear that all this business with the captain has distracted the crew somewhat. River is still in danger, and Simon's in no place to be keeping track of her now."

"How's that my problem?" Jayne asked, trying to sound grumpy enough to make Book drop it, but the Shepherd seemed determined.

"Jayne, you don't understand. None of us really understand what was done to her, or how badly those who once had her might want her back." Book looked to his side and up; Jayne followed the old man's stare. The girl was still up on the catwalk, lying on her back and moving her arms above her, jabbing them into the air. Almost like she was dancing. Or playing at fighting.

"Please," Book said in almost a whisper, "don't let her out of your sight while you're on Highgate. Or at least, see that she stays on the ship. The things that have been happening lately have been getting to her, and she's been different. I fear that she might try something foolish. And that could… lead to very bad places."

Jayne was still sure that this shouldn't be his problem, so he was surprised as hell to find himself nodding his head. "I'll look after her," he said. He was immediately annoyed, and tried to back up a bit. "Much as I can, that is. I got to job to do myself." He cleared his throat and tried to sound serious and focused. "Responsibilities and such."

"I understand." Book gave Jayne a smile that had something like… pride. And maybe even trust. It made Jayne grit his teeth.

But hell, it'd only be a day or two, then everyone would be back together, and Simon'd have what he needed to get the captain on his feet. They'd all be back to business as usual, or close enough. And then, no matter what else happened, Jayne'd be on his way. He'd been here long enough.

o-o-o

Simon Tam leaned against the infirmary counter and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide how to spend the next few hours. The thing he wanted most was sleep, but he had to come up with a plan of what to do when they landed on Highgate.

He'd barely even thought about it. For the past two days, he'd done little but study the imager scan, trying to understand why Mal was getting worse and what kind of treatment might slow the problem. But that was out of Simon's hands now, and it was time to move on to the next step.

As a fugitive, he couldn't just walk up to an old classmate and ask a favor; he'd have to send in one of the crew. He didn't trust Jayne at all, so that left him two options. It would be so much easier to work with Wash, but it was common sense that the pilot should stay on the ship and be ready to move.

No, it really needed to be Kaylee who went in to the medical clinic on Highgate. Simon would have a lot to explain to her, to prepare her…

The thought of Kaylee sitting beside him had his body thinking about things that his mind had no time for, and Simon muttered the worst curse word he could think of. This was exactly why kissing her had been such a bad idea. For just a few seconds, he had given in to his desire, let himself forget that the only true goal of his life was – should be – finding safety and security for his sister. That brief loss of control had brought him nothing but more obstacles in his way. He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to prepare Kaylee when she was barely willing to talk to him, and he couldn't go anywhere near her without being distracted in an almost unbearable way.

But there was no avoiding it; Kaylee had to be the one to go, and he had to be the one to explain it all to her. He rubbed his eyes again and sighed. The next several hours were going to be hell.

Kaylee chose that exact moment to come into the infirmary. Simon straightened, then shifted uncomfortably and looked away from her.

"Come on," she said, and she held out a hand to him.

"What?" he asked uncertainly.

She didn't answer, but stepped close enough to grab his hand, twining her fingers in his. Her grip was light; it would have been easy to pull away, but he didn't. Her face was serious – there was no smile, no sign that this was any kind of mischief. There was no anger or defensiveness either; she was acting like there was a task to be done, and she wanted to lead him to it. Maybe she'd made some progress with building the generator?

But she took him right past the stairs that led up to the engine room, heading toward the dorms. It was only a dozen steps, and before his tired mind had time to even make a guess, she pulled him into his own room. She dropped his hand and turned to close the door behind them.

"Kaylee – ?" he began to ask, then she stepped toward him. One of her hands slid up his cheek, and she leaned in close and kissed him.

Despite the regrets that had just been weighing so heavily on him, Simon was too tired to do anything but go along. He went right back to where they'd left off a few days ago and felt the same rush of pleasure and relief, though it wasn't quite as sweet as it had been then. Now, Kaylee had an intensity of need that made him think that she had every intention of going someplace with this. Going someplace that was…

Simon pulled his mouth free of hers. "Kaylee, what are you…?"

Her hands ran down his back as she nipped at his jaw. He didn't have to finish his question – there was no need to say the words. He got his answer from the way she pressed against him.

"Are… are you sure?" he asked, his voice now a little breathless.

She pulled her head back enough to look him in the eye. "Sure as I ever been bout anything."

Her hands kept moving over his back, her touch firm and warm, then he felt her fingers in his hair. She pressed lightly, as if she wanted to pull him into a kiss again, but she didn't. Even through his exhaustion, Simon understood – she was letting him decide.

It was hell of a choice for him to handle now, when he was so physically exhausted and mentally drained. Wú yí, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly that his body seemed to ache with it, from the soles of his feet to the blood that tingled in his scalp. But he couldn't be weak now – there was so much at risk, so many lives in his hands. He couldn't be getting into an even more complicated mess with Kaylee.

Sex would be great. Sex would be… phenomenal. But what would likely come after – the self-doubt, the confusion, the awkwardness – could be more than he could handle. Like Kaylee had told him before, now wasn't the time to get into this.

He felt her slide a gentle hand to his cheek, and she made him look her in the eye. "Hey," she said, "it's okay."

What he saw in her face was something new. It wasn't quite the Kaylee he'd known during his first months on board; there wasn't that eager, joyful light in her eyes. But, thank the gods, this wasn't the heart-broken husk of a woman who'd been hiding in corners ever since Niflheim. The hazel eyes holding his had something _knowing_ in them, a wisdom that spoke of a solid center in the core of her. It was as if whatever happened now, whatever wrong thing he did or said, she wouldn't be running away.

As if she wanted to prove it, Kaylee spoke up again, her voice calm and comforting. "Quit thinkin'," she said. "Ain't any need for it here."

"Right," he replied with a quick shake of his head.

But why was it right now, and not two days ago? He might have asked that question, but Kaylee's hand was on his chest, pressing through his shirt to heat his skin.

"It's safe, Simon," she said, her forehead against his and her lips just a tilt away. "Ain't nothing bad gonna happen. Not here. Not now."

"Right," he said again, and then he finally let himself wrap his arms around her and pull her into a kiss.

Months of pent-up need broke loose, and once he gave in to it, he couldn't stop. He couldn't get her close enough, or hold every curve of her at once, and her eager reactions only added heat to the fire that flashed up in him. The solid and very real shape of Kaylee's body, right up against his, with no doubts or caution in the way, was nearly overwhelming. He tangled one hand in her hair and let the other slide down to grip her backside, pressing her hips into his, and he felt her gasp into his mouth at the contact. A very distant part of his mind might have been shocked at how he was manhandling her, how he moved his body against hers in an almost animalistic way, but she was whimpering in her own need, and her body was so warm and pliant in his arms that he couldn't care. She obviously didn't mind.

She pulled him across the room, their feet tangling in a few clumsy steps, then they fell onto the bed. They had to separate for a moment, and Kaylee took the opportunity to pull her shirt off. Simon found himself hovering over her, one of his hands moving on its own to explore her bared skin, then he leaned down to have a taste, starting at her neck and moving down as she arched up against him. Dimly, he realized that she was opening the fastenings of his pants.

"Easy!" he said with a gasp when she reached inside. The thought flitted across his mind that there'd been a very different reaction the last time a woman put her hand in that particular spot.

"This may not… last… if you do that," he managed to say when her fingers closed tightly around him.

Kaylee surprised him with a carefree laugh. "Oh… we'll doin' it twice," she replied. She pushed him onto his side and bit at his neck, and Simon dropped his head back – he suddenly didn't give a damn about any marks she might leave on him. "At least twice," she added, a warm smile in her voice.

"G… good," Simon stuttered breathlessly, and he laid back and gave in to the firm grip of her hand.

o-o-o

Zoë Washburn stood still after Book and Simon left, waiting for Wash to make his way to her. The only person around was Mal, but the captain wouldn't be noticing much. She had all the privacy she could want for a proper parting with her husband.

Thing was, Zoë'd really prefer to skip this part. It wasn't that she wouldn't miss Wash. She knew very well that she'd miss him something awful, and she'd be wanting his smiles and wise talk, as well as his warm hugs and comforting touches, in the time to come. If this thing of Mal's went where it was sure to go, she'd be wanting Wash real bad. But she wasn't about to explain that to him. She wasn't about to tell him about any of it.

Wash clearly had his own worries getting in his way. He stopped a meter away from her. "I heard what Simon told you," he said, a note of something bitter in his voice. "You don't need to stay here."

She dropped her head, wishing he'd just leave this be. "The captain wanted to be off the ship, and I agreed."

"But… that's just stupid!" Wash snapped. "I get that Mal doesn't want anyone seeing him like this, all sick and everything. But you can keep him in his bunk, or one of the dorm rooms. You can protect his precious pride just fine, without leaving the ship."

_Pride ain't half of it,_ Zoë thought, but she didn't say that out loud. "Husband, this ain't any of your business. I ain't gonna fight you over it, and I ain't gonna stand here and explain myself."

"Zoë, what you don't get about the whole husband/wife deal is that you _do_ need to explain. I don't think it's asking too much for you include me in whatever this… thing is!"

Zoë sighed. She knew that he'd been holding those words back for days. And maybe he'd chosen a bad time to give in and say them, but he was right. It wasn't fair for her to holding herself apart from him the way she'd been. Thing was, the part of herself that could laugh and love with Wash, the part that was free and careless and full of joy, was so gorramn precious just because it was separate from her past. She didn't know how to make Wash understand, not without ruining what she had with him.

She folded her arms around herself and stood rigid, feeling brittle. "We can't do this now," she said. "I can't do this now."

Wash stood silently for a moment, his face set in anger and something like a pout. It frustrated her at the same time that it made her love him all the more, this mix of man and boy that could take all she gave without breaking, and always left her feeling safe and unburdened in the end. There wasn't a person in the verse who could do for her what Wash did.

Maybe, if she said these words to him, this storm would blow over and they'd be able to have the right kind of goodbye, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She could only hold herself tightly closed and hope to get by.

To her relief, Wash gave up the fight. He let go of his anger with a long exhale, and stepped close to wrap his arms around her. They stood like that, quiet in the soft rain, until Book returned from the ship. The preacher went to the camp and began sorting through bags, keeping his back to them. But his tact wasn't needed; there wouldn't be any passionate kisses between the Washburns today.

"Honey…" she started. Wash understood; he let go of her and stepped away. She let one hand trail down his arm to catch his hand. "Get back quick," she said.

Wash squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye long enough to nod, then he let go and turned to climb the ramp. Zoë watched as the door closed; she kept her eyes on the man who was the joy in her life for as long as she could.

Then the door sealed and he was gone. She was stuck with the stark reality of this thing that was happening, with no barrier to keep her distant from the darkness that Mal was spiraling toward. She'd thought it was behind them both for good, but whatever controls the fates of the verse clearly had other things in mind.

Her stomach twisted with dread, because she knew that Mal wouldn't be going on his journey alone. She'd be right along with him. She'd be going back to places that she'd hoped never to see again.

o-o-o

Translations  
bào xīn jiù huŏ: carry logs to put out a fire - adopt a wrong method to save a situation and end up making it worse  
shinobi shozoku: ninjitsu clothing  
sanjaku-tenugui: three-foot cloths  
bù găn xiāng xìn: unbelievable  
wú yí: no doubt; undoubtedly


End file.
